


Butterfly

by AislingSiobhan



Series: Lycaenidae Series [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-25
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-04 07:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 51
Words: 201,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AislingSiobhan/pseuds/AislingSiobhan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry was 5 he had a pet butterfly. The butterfly could turn into a man who lived in Harry’s basement. That man killed Vernon when Harry turned 8. That man is a Death Eater who has been training Harry in how to be a proper Pureblood Heir. Harry was always told he was a bit like a Caterpillar and one day he’d be a Butterfly too. Sorted into Ravenclaw, when he starts Hogwarts, Harry learns that sometimes it’s much harder to keep secrets than it is to tell lies. But it could be worse: he could have been a Slytherin. As if enough people didn’t look at him funny already!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**“Butterfly”**

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter, et all are property of JK Rowling, and Bloomsbury, and Warner Bros and all those other nifty people that make it so we can read and watch the Potterverse whenever we feel like it. I make no money from this, just so you know.  
 **Summary:** [LM/HP] When Harry was 5 he had a pet butterfly. The butterfly could turn into a man who lived in Harry’s basement. That man killed Vernon when Harry turned 8. That man is a Death Eater who has been training Harry in how to be a proper Pureblood Heir. Harry was always told he was a bit like a Caterpillar and one day he’d be a Butterfly too. Sorted into Ravenclaw, when he starts Hogwarts, Harry learns that sometimes it’s much harder to keep secrets than it is to tell lies. But it could be worse: he could have been a Slytherin. As if enough people didn’t look at him funny already!  
 **Warnings:** Pre-Slash. Slash. LM/HP: HP/other(possibly DM)(minor). AU. Character Death. Violence. Language. Ravenclaw Harry. Underage. Attempted Non-Con.  
 **Rating:** R/NC-17 SLASH!!  
 **A/N:** I have the author’s permission to use Evan Rosier as that Death Eater. 

_XXX_

**Words:** 5,155  
 **Chapter 1**  
 **Prologue**  
24th June 1995. Little Hangleton. 

When the world stopped spinning, Harry found himself thrown to the ground. He landed painfully on his injured leg, suppressing a groan as he rolled onto his back. His eyes fluttered as he focused on the sky above him, taking in the blue sky and the slight smattering of fluffy white clouds as he tried not to vomit. He turned his head to the side and frowned. They were obviously nowhere near Hogwarts now. Even the mountains that usually surrounded the castle were out of sight now. Harry was lying on the ground in the middle of a dark and overgrown cemetery. There was a hill to the left of him, and he could barely make out the shape of a house on the hill. A church was to their right, far away from them nonetheless. 

He was alone – almost. 

Beside him Cedric Diggory made an excited squealing noise.

Cedric was seventeen and, despite the fact that he was older than Harry, he was spinning around in circles laughing. “We won, Potter!” He cried, looking down at the boy on the ground. “We won!” He was tall, and fair-haired. His grey eyes sparkled in his handsome face as he turned to grin at Harry. 

“Where are we?” Harry whispered. He had an idea of what was going on, of course he did. Evan wouldn’t have risked his safety in anyway, and that included not informing Harry of any plans the Dark Lord was carrying out. He knew something was happening, right then, as they spoke, but he wanted to know where he was as well. 

Cedric stilled suddenly. He drew his wand from within his robe and pointed it ahead of him. “Wands out I suppose?” His free hand was clenching at the black and yellow fabric of his sporting robe, nervously. 

Harry watched him curiously. It was strange, the teenager decided, how humans could change from one emotion to another so suddenly. Each smile, followed by a frown, followed by another smile was a metamorphosis of its own: like changing from a caterpillar to a butterfly. Each time, stopping to rest as a cocoon. 

Harry was a cocoon for all intents and purposes. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, the Ravenclaw spotted a short, podgy man sneaking towards them. In one arm the man was carrying a bundle wrapped in black, and the other hand held his wand out straight, pointed at Cedric. Harry considered warning the other boy, but he didn’t want to ruin the Dark Lord’s plans. He bit his bottom lip, thinking. The slight moment he would have had to save the other boy’s life passed, and Harry watched as green light engulfed the other Tri-Wizard Champion content that he had made the right decision to let it happen. 

Harry wasn’t like other children. He didn’t care about right and wrong, or black and white magic. Harry believed in power. You either sought power or you were to weak to seek it, and so you sought out the powerful and made yourself of use to them. Peter Pettigrew was not powerful, but he was loyal to the Dark Lord. It was for that reason alone that Harry did not attack the man the instant his hands fell on Harry’s shoulders. 

“Incarcerous!” Pettigrew shouted, shoving Harry backwards at the same time. The teenager smirked slightly. Obviously, this Death Eater was not privy to the Dark Lord’s secrets. 

Ropes bound him, arms and legs and torso, to the gravestone that had been directly behind him. For the first time, Harry noticed the large black cauldron that sat beside him. Beneath it, Pettigrew lit a fire, and they watched it burn in silence for a moment before a hissing voice commanded, “hurry, you fool. Put me in the cauldron.” 

Harry watched them: his head tilted to one side as he studied the horrid creature being bared before him. Pettigrew unwrapped the black cloth from what he had been carrying, and Harry’s mouth turned down in distaste as the rotting corpse of a baby was revealed to him. It hardly even resembled a child anymore. What was bared to Harry was scaly and hairless, hunched over and looking a dark reddish black colour. Its face was flat, snakelike, and red eyes peered up at him, narrowing at Harry’s obvious lack of fear. 

Voldemort was laid gently down into the cauldron and Pettigrew immediately set to work. There was a splash as Voldemort entered the cauldron, then a soft thud as he hit the bottom. For a brief moment, Harry thought, ‘let it drown’, his eyes straying to Cedric’s corpse. But then he shook himself, straightened his back as much as he was able (tied to a gravestone, and all) and looked Pettigrew straight in the eyes. 

Pettigrew looked away first. He spoke, his voice slow and shaky and he looked scared out of his mind. “Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!” 

The ground Harry stood upon began to shake, the dirt on top of the grave shifting slightly to the side. A fine mist rose up, glittering softly in the twilight as it floated towards the cauldron. Bone fragments, Harry realized, worn down completely by time. He swallowed heavily as the potion in the cauldron turned a poisonous blue. 

He had no reason to fear, he tried to remind himself. This was his Lord; he would happily serve this man because it would make Evan happy as well. His Lord would not hurt him, nor would Evan be harmed. He didn’t have to fear. His brain seemed to find that argument reasonable, but his heart, oh his heart, was beating four times faster than it should have been. It skipped a beat as Pettigrew suddenly produced a dagger and held it to his own right hand. That hand that was already missing a finger.

“Flesh of the servant… willingly given… you will revive your m-master,” the other man stuttered. The dagger was shaking, rocking terrifyingly from side to side as it pressed harder against skin. As he said the word ‘master’ Pettigrew pushed down, cutting completely through bone and skin and sinew, severing his hand. It dropped into the cauldron with a splash and Peter was left, clutching at his handless arm, his mouth opened in a silent scream of agony. Harry winced, squeezing his eyes shut in a moment of weakness as his brain tried informing him of how much that would have likely hurt. 

The potion was red now, and Harry turned his face back to it, staring at it, defying it to act against him somehow. He didn’t know this ritual, he had never studied it and the fact that he didn’t know what to expect scared him. As a Ravenclaw, he was intelligent, he liked to learn and know things that no one else knew. He was studious. He was supposed to be in control. He swallowed again. Pettigrew was walking slowly towards him. Harry wished Evan had told him what would happen in more detail. He wished he had thought to ask, but he hadn’t, he had just trusted Evan like always. 

The dagger was pressed to his crook of his right arm. “Blood of the enemy,” Pettigrew panted, still in terrible pain, “forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe.”

That wasn’t right, Harry thought. He wasn’t Lord Voldemort’s enemy. Why didn’t they use Cedric’s blood if that was what the ritual required? 

He gasped. A pain shot through him, beginning in his arm and travelling its way down his spine and his legs. He clenched his teeth, refusing to cry out as Pettigrew twisted the dagger in the gash he had made. A vial was pressed to the wound, catching a few drops of blood, and then Pettigrew was walking back to the cauldron, and emptying the vial over it. Whatever potion was in the cauldron suddenly turned a blinding shade of white. His job done, Pettigrew fell to the ground, curled in on himself and clutching at his bloody stump. 

He must have taken a potion, Harry mused. Or he would have lost consciousness some time ago. 

Nothing happened for sometime. Ever the Ravenclaw, Harry found himself going through ideas and suggestions, trying to think what Pettigrew might have done wrong to botch the potion. Perhaps he used too much blood, or too little? Or maybe he should have—

Harry’s eyes widened, his brain quietened for a moment, before kicking into overdrive. It had worked it seemed. How would Voldemort look? Did the potion work properly? Who had brewed it, Snape maybe? 

“Robe me,” the same hissing voice commanded. Pettigrew dragged himself to his feet, whimpering pitifully as he unfolded the black material that had been discarded earlier. It was a robe, not a blanket as Harry had assumed originally, and it was old and tattered but it appeared clean enough. Voldemort allowed it to be draped over his naked body. 

The man was thin, almost skeletal in appearance, and unnaturally tall as well. He stepped out of the cauldron, his red eyes fixed on Harry’s face and the teenager stared back. He looked nothing like the Voldemort from Evan’s stories, nothing like Harry had imagined him too. This Voldemort was paler than paper, his skin stretched tight over his flat, nose-less face, bald and a pink tongue licked at his lipless mouth as he walked closer to the gravestone. Bony fingers reached out, caressing Harry’s face, and the Ravenclaw suppressed his urge to flinch backwards. 

He had leant young that accepting punishment hurt a lot less than fighting against it. 

“Harry Potter,” Voldemort hissed, his voice strangely soothing as he stared down at the fourteen year old. “If I may.” He didn’t say what he wanted and he didn’t ask for permission. Voldemort dropped to his knees before Harry, his face pressed to the crook of his arm where the gash was still bleeding sluggishly, and his mouth closed around the wound. Harry felt light-headed all of a sudden. He could feel Voldemort’s tongue flicking over his skin, his could feel the Dark Lord sucking on his arm, lapping at his blood and swallowing it down. He shook his head, letting out a soft groan as his vision blurred slightly. 

Voldemort drew back. He smirked up at Harry, black eyelashes fluttered against his pale cheeks as he allowed them to close briefly, before he rose fluidly to his feet. 

“Thank you, Harry.” He reached around behind Harry and untied the ropes the Muggle way. “The dizziness will pass in a moment. I’m afraid Wormtail didn’t use enough of your blood as he should have. The ritual required a portion of your magical essence, and that would have required a full vial of blood.”

“Not just a few drops,” Harry said, interrupting. “That’s why you look the way you do now.”

Pettigrew looked over at him, eyes wide in horror. Someone had dared to speak to Lord Voldemort so disrespectfully? The Dark Lord smirked, his mouth curving upwards. The skin around his mouth was twisting and shifting, growing outwards and plumping up, forming lips that were pale pink and puckered as Voldemort smiled. “You are correct, child. Your blood will fix my appearance in its own time.” Even then, his hair was growing back. Long black strands appeared, falling to his ears with a slight wave and Voldemort brushed it back gently. 

He took Harry’s hand. Voldemort led Harry away from the gravestone, and towards the cauldron. With a wave of his hand he vanished the cauldron and its content and the fire, and then he turned to Wormtail. “My wand,” he said, his hand already outstretched. When the wand was placed in his hand, his fingers (which were already filling out) clenched around the wood, squeezing it, relishing in its familiarity. 

He turned then, wand in hand, to look at Harry. 

Harry lowered himself to the ground, eyes downcast, head bowed. “My Lord, allow me the honour of serving you?”

Voldemort allowed a soft chuckle to escape him. “From what I have heard, you already do.” 

“It makes Evan happy.” Harry said negligently, still not looking up. 

Red eyes widened. “Does it make you happy to serve me?” There was a teasing lilt to his voice that even Pettigrew picked up on. Voldemort allowed his eyes to rake over the form kneeling before him. Harry was beautiful undoubtedly, but if Barty Jr. was to be believed someone already had Harry’s attention. 

Completely missing the leer Voldemort sent him, Harry looked up. He was frowning, but he knew he had to answer honestly. “I don’t know. I haven’t served you long enough, while in your presence, to make an informed decision.” 

“Now,” Voldemort said seriously, “I see why you are wearing blue and grey robes.” He held a hand out and Harry took it into his own, allowing the Dark Lord to help him to his feet. “It would please me to have you serve me, and support me.” When Harry made to speak, Voldemort pressed a finger to the boy’s lips. “I wish for you to be above my Death Eaters. You are not my equal, you are not equal to me in age or experience but probably in power; so you shall be my heir. I have been told that was what Rosier was training you for anyway.” Harry gave a shallow nod, staying silent. “I want you to understand, Harry. I am a cruel man. I will not be a father to you, and I have no interest in you behaving like my son. You are a vessel, to learn from me, to follow in my footsteps and lead my Death Eaters should I ever be out of commission. We are not family, and I will punish you if need be.”

“I understand, my Lord.” Harry lowered himself slightly, curtsying, rather than bowing again. Voldemort’s grip on his face would not let him bow. 

“You may call me Marvolo. It will make sure the Death Eaters know that you are above them.” By now his face had a nose, straight and regal. There were black eyebrows on his face, nicely shaped but not too thin, and while his body seemed to have gained some shape, fat or muscle or both, he was still freakishly tall. “Your father wore glasses,” Voldemort said suddenly. His fingers brushed the bridge of Harry’s nose, which was spectacle free. 

“Evan gave me a potion to heal my vision. He said my glasses looked unseemly.” Harry gave a soft smile; thinking about Evan always made him happy. 

A sudden hissing drew Harry’s attention. He looked at the ground, eyes widening slightly at the sight. A huge cobra had appeared, wriggling its way between Voldemort’s feet, its tongue flicking out to caress the man’s ankles. The snake had not been there when Harry first arrived, but he assumed it had been with Voldemort all along. It couldn’t have just gotten there, by itself. 

**“Nagini, this is Harry Potter. He is my heir; I wish to teach him everything I know. You will be respectful towards him, and you are never to bite him.”**

The snake turned her head towards Harry, its forked tongue coming forward to taste the air between them. **“He looks like he would taste well, master, but I will not eat him because you ask it.”**

**“That is good to know,”** Harry said softly, smiling down at the cobra. Both the snake and Voldemort’s eyes widened, looking at him in shock. Voldemort had heard rumours, told to him mostly by Peter, but hearing about it and hearing it first hand were different matters. 

“You are a Parselmouth.” The Dark Lord stared at him, unblinkingly. 

“Yes. Evan says I’ve been able to speak to snakes for as long as he has known me.” Harry gave another soft smile. Fortunately for him, not many people knew he shared a trait with several dark Wizards. Life would be complicated then, he supposed, should that particular secret ever come to light. 

“My Lord,” Wormtail suddenly interrupted, choking the words out through his sobs, “you promised… you did promise!” 

“Hold out your arm,” the Dark Lord said, not looking away from Harry. 

“Oh thank you, thank you, master,” Pettigrew praised happily as he held out his bloody stump. Harry grimaced at the sight of it. 

“The other arm,” Voldemort drawled lazily, laughing at Peter’s moan of disappointment. He reached forward, grabbing at Peter’s left arm and pushing back the sleeve. A mark that Harry was very familiar with stood out vividly against the skin of Pettigrew’s left forearm. The Dark Mark. A small tattoo in the shape of a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth. Evan had one as well. 

“It is back,” Voldemort muttered to himself. “Now we shall see. How many dare return, how many will be brave enough to come back to me.” He smirked then, a cruel glint flashed in his eyes and Harry’s heart sped up again. “And how many will be foolish enough to stay away.”

His wand pressed against Peter’s mark, and the shorter man gave a gasp of pain. He tried to curl in on himself, to hug both arms to his chest, but Voldemort’s grip was too tight. In the end, Pettigrew sobbed, his arm held by Voldemort as he hung below it, limp and in pain and trembling. 

Cracks filled the air. Pops and their echoes rang through the graveyard. Harry looked around in awe as shapes appeared out of fog, incorporeal at first, then mere silhouettes, and suddenly visible and real. They seemed to fill the cemetery completely. Along with all of the dead bodies, more and more Wizards were appearing, hidden between gravestones and behind trees and pressing up against one another. Each of them were masked, their faces hidden by white porcelain, and they wore black robes their hoods raised to hide their hair. 

All except for one. 

“Harry!” Evan Rosier shouted, as he shoved his way to the front of the crowd. He grabbed the teenager by the shoulders, pulling him into a rough hug and then shoving him back just as quickly. As excited as he was, he didn’t seem to notice when Harry stumbled. Voldemort reached out to steady the boy. “How was it? What happened? Did it wor-” Evan’s eyes narrowed on the hand that rested on Harry’s arm. The gaze followed the arm upwards, finding the attached shoulder, then the neck, until, eyes wide, Evan was looking at the face of Lord Voldemort. “It worked!” He cried. He pulled Harry into a hug again, dragging him out of Voldemort’s grip. “My Lord, you’ve returned!”

“I know,” the Dark Lord hissed. “I was there. As was Harry.” His head turned, his red eyes fixing on the others, the ones who hung back still. They watched the Dark Lord, as if they did not believe their eyes. One by one they inched forward. Crawling on their hands and knees they each kissed the robes of Lord Voldemort, before moving back. They stood, forming a circle that completely surrounded Voldemort, Evan, Harry, and the grave, and the sobbing form of Peter as well. There were gaps left in the circle, but Voldemort did not seem to expect anyone else to arrive. Harry thought, possibly, those spaces were left for the Death Eaters who were imprisoned. He remembered Evan telling him stories of the Lestranges, and the Longbottoms, and what had happened to both families. 

Reluctantly, Evan let Harry go, and he took his position in the circle. Evan stood near the centre, next to someone whose grey eyes peered intently at him through the slits in his mask. Harry smiled back at that Death Eater, and the grey eyes fluttered closed momentarily in relief. 

“Welcome Death Eaters,” Voldemort spoke, making his way around the circle, unmasking his followers as he went. He drew their masks off one by one, starting with the lowest ranking Death Eater and making his way up to Evan, the gap beside him big enough for two people, and then the man with the grey eyes. “Thirteen years since we last met. Yet you answered my call as though it was yesterday. We are still united under the Dark Mark then? Or are we?” He sneered suddenly, throwing the last mask to the ground in anger. “I smell guilt.” 

A pale face looked back at him, eyes wide and unfettered, allowing Voldemort to look into his mind, to search for lies or secrets or unloyalty that did not exist. Pale blond hair, almost silver in colour, framed his face, hanging to mid back, and looking as soft as Harry knew it felt. Those grey eyes shone slightly, almost silver in the twilight as well as he gazed at his Lord and then over to Harry. 

“There is a stench of guilt upon the air.” Voldemort finished, turning to stare at someone else. Lucius Malfoy continued to watch Harry. 

He suddenly spoke again. A shiver went through the crowd, as if each one of them wanted to step back but didn’t dare. “I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact and I ask myself, why did this band of Wizards never come to the aid of their master? And I answer myself, they must have believed me broken, they thought I was gone.”

“Forgive us!” A voice cried. A man surged forward, his face flushed and his eyes wide with fear. “Forgive us all.” He clutched at Voldemort’s robes. Evan snorted, a smirk crossing his face as Voldemort raised his wand at Avery. 

“Crucio.” A scream, unlike any other Harry had ever heard before, rent the air. It was louder still than the one Vernon had uttered as Evan dealt with him, though perhaps not as desperate. The scream stopped, and panting filled the silence. Harry looked down at the Death Eater. His face was flush, covered in a sheen of sweat, and he twitched lightly on the ground. “Be silent, Avery,” Voldemort commanded. “You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive. I do not forget. I want thirteen years’ repayment before I forgive you. Wormtail here had paid some of his debt already, as has Evan.”

All eyes flickered to Harry as Voldemort said this. Many of them wanted to know why Potter was there and still alive, only three knew already. “Evan has paid off his debt to me in full.” He turned his attention back to Peter. “Worthless and treacherous as you are, you helped me,” Voldemort said as he reached down to grab Pettigrew’s right arm. “And Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers.” He raised his wand and whirled it through the air. A pool of molten silver swirled in the air, shapeless it floated towards Wormtail’s stump before morphing into a replica of a human hand. It attached to the bleeding wrist, looking, silver and shinny, but as if it had always been there. 

“Thank you, thank you, master,” the man sobbed, climbing to his feet. 

“The Lestranges should stand here,” the Dark Lord said, pointing at the space between Lucius and Evan. “Come here Harry.” When Harry was at his side, Voldemort reached out to caress his cheek. Red eyes glinted as they noticed the tightening of Lucius’ fists, the tenseness in the man’s stance the longer his hand remained on Harry. So the rumours were true. “What do you know of the Lestranges?”

“They tortured the Longbottoms into insanity, bar their disgrace of a son, and are now in Azkaban Prison.” 

“That will do.” He said suddenly. The hand on Harry’s face pushed softly, and Harry taking the hint took two steps backwards, out of reach. “They were faithful. They went to Azkaban rather than renounce me. When Azkaban is broken open, the Lestranges will be honoured beyond their dreams.” He walked silently passed others, spoke to four other men and then stopped in the largest gap yet. “Three dead in my service,” he said softly, “one, too cowardly to return, he will pay. One, who I believe has left me forever; he will be killed, of course. And one, who remains my most faithful servant, and who has already re-entered my service.” 

Harry watched the Death Eaters look at each other, trying to decide between them who of those missing and still alive could be this ‘most faithful’ person. 

“Alastor Moody,” Harry said suddenly, grinning over at Evan. “Who is he really?” He asked Voldemort. 

The Dark Lord smirked, cruel and cold as he turned his whole body to face Harry again. He strode away from the gap and caught the teenager by the neck. His fingers tightened but Harry didn’t flinch or struggle and after a moment Voldemort let him go. Lucius was gripping at Evan’s arm, stopping the man from doing something stupid. “You are a very clever child.” Voldemort said at length. 

“I spent years living with Evan under constant Polyjuice cover. I think I’m used to it enough by now to know when someone is pretending to be someone else.” Harry was still grinning, even as he rubbed at his throat. “Who is he?”

“You will find out soon. He has orders to see to you when you return to Hogwarts.” He turned to face his Death Eaters again. He continued to speak, and as he spoke, Harry moved to stand in the gap left by the Lestranges. One hand reached out to hold Evan’s, squeezing it lightly. The other hand reached out to the other side, his fingers just brushing against the back of Lucius’ hand, and as the blond looked down at him. Harry gave him a soft smile. 

Voldemort suddenly stopped talking. His red eyes were fixed on Lucius’ face. “Something you wish to share, Malfoy?” 

Lucius bowed his head, muttering apologies and begging forgiveness, as Harry frowned. Harry’s mouth opened. Evan’s nails dug into the back of Harry’s hand, and the boy’s mouth closed again. 

“Harry Potter has kindly joined us for my rebirthing party.” Voldemort said, changing the subject suddenly. Everyone turned to look at Harry again, except Evan who was watching the Dark Lord warily. “One might go so far as to call him my guest of honour.” His smirked maliciously at Harry then, and the teenager swallowed convulsively. A finger crooked at him, and Harry walked forward warily, following Voldemort’s silent command. When they were close enough to touch, Voldemort spun him around and dragged Harry against him, back to chest. “Ah, my story, and what a story it is. It begins, and ends, with my young friend here. But the story is too long, and Harry must be getting back to Hogwarts soon, so perhaps you will hear it another time, if Rosier humours you.” 

Brown eyes looked back at him stonily; the only Death Eater who did not fear pain or death, and so feared Lord Voldemort less than the others as a result. 

“Harry, here, was raised as some of you may know by Muggles. What you may not know, is that Rosier actually was the one to raise young Harry. Harry will be, and has always been, my heir. You will all treat him as such, is that understood?” 

“Yes, my Lord,” they all chorused. 

Voldemort smiled. His hand pressed down on Harry’s forehead and the boy screamed as pain flared through his entire being. He flailed in Voldemort’s grasp, thrashing desperately to escape from the hold and the pain. “That will have to be remedied,” Voldemort whispered as he pushed Harry away from him. 

The ground rushed towards him, but before Harry could land on it, two arms encircled his waist, pulling him up and cradling him gently. 

“So the rumours are true,” Voldemort mused out loud. He had expected Rosier to jump forward and catch Harry, but not Lucius. The fact that Lucius had disregarded his composure, ignored his pride, dived into the dirt before them all to catch Potter, well, it went to show that he must care deeply about the younger Wizard. “I did not realize you preferred children, my friend. I shall have to make some available to you on our next adventure.” 

Lucius looked up at him, worry evident in his eyes. “What did you do?”

“It seems that my touch pains him.” 

“Only his scar.” Evan said suddenly. He walked forward, unconcerned that there were people listening and watching him. “His scar is cursed, and it pains him sometimes when your emotions are heightened. I have taught him Occlumency, what I know of it, and that helps, my Lord.” 

Voldemort took in Evan’s words, but did not reply to them. He crouched down, before Lucius and Harry, and pushed back the teenager’s fringe. His scar was raw looking, red and there was a smear of blood across it. 

**“I apologize.”** He whispered in Parseltongue. With a nod, Harry accepted it, because he knew the Dark Lord would never apologize to him if anyone else could understand. He was surprised his pain had been noticed at all, really. Lord Voldemort didn’t seem as bad as Headmaster Dumbledore made him out to be. “It is time to be getting back to Hogwarts, Harry.”

“Yes Marvolo.” A gasp came from most of the Death Eaters, but glares from Lucius and Evan kept them from speaking out of turn. 

“Are you ok?” Lucius asked him softly, when Voldemort had walked away from them. His lips brushed gently over Harry’s scar, the feather light touch soothing the pain that still throbbed through Harry’s head. 

“I’m fine.” The boy whispered, tilting his head up automatically. 

“Liar.” The blond’s lips were pressed to Harry’s own then, slim fingers tangling into the long locks, drawing Lucius closer to him. 

“Accio,” a voice called, and through his daze Harry recognized it as Voldemort’s. Lucius had just enough control left to rip himself away from Harry before the Portkey slammed into the boy’s stomach. A whoosh of air left the brunette, his eyes widened slightly as a body hit him, then narrowed at Voldemort’s amused face. “Goodbye, for now, my Harry.” The Dark Lord waved at him, just as the world began to spin again. 

When the world stopped spinning, he was lying on his back. The Portkey lay on top of him, and beside him was Cedric Diggory’s corpse. He remembered Voldemort waving at him, he remembered the feel of Lucius’ lips on his, Evan hugging him tightly, and he tried not to smile. Harry was always told he was a bit like a Caterpillar and one day he’d be a Butterfly too. 

As Dumbledore’s face appeared above his own, Harry forced tears to his eyes, still fighting back a smile. 

It seemed as if he had finally emerged from his cocoon. 

**XXX**

TBC :)


	2. Chapter 01

**Words:** 3,153  
 **Chapter 1**  
August 12th 1985. Little Whinging. 

The wind rushed past him, knocking him off course, but he turned his body to the side, flapped his wings, and continued to fly. It was raining heavily: fat, wet drops falling from the sky and pelting against him. The drops were almost as large as him, and the butterfly did its best to swerve and avoid each one. If one hit him, he would fall a few inches, shake himself off and rise up again, beating his wings furiously. His body shivered as a bolt of lightening streaked passed him. The wind howled again, and he was caught in it. He found himself being swept to the side, and if he could have screamed as a butterfly he would have. 

He fell, and despite how hard he tried to fly, he couldn’t. Eyes widening, he found himself going straight towards a tree. He flapped his wings, but the wind blew again, at precisely the wrong moment, and he was blown sideways again. He closed his eyes, preparing to change back, perhaps expose himself but at least it would save the butterfly from being crushed against the tree. But something grabbed him. 

The hold was gentle. One hand reached out and plucked him nimbly out of the air. The second hand cupped over the first, shielding him from the rain but also preventing the butterfly from flying away. 

A pair of green eyes peered down at him between the gap in the child’s fingers. A small smile stretched across the boy’s lips, and he blinked. Raindrops fell off of his eyelashes and his fringe was plastered to his forehead. He was trembling, but he continued to smile at the butterfly. 

“My name is Harry,” the child told him. “I’ll take care of you.” Harry sat on the ground, tucked in the alcove between the front door of a house and the front steps. His knees were pressed to his chest and the butterfly remained held safe and warm in Harry’s hands, all night. 

The storm had stopped by morning, and when the front door of the house opened, a tall, skinny woman popped her head through the gap and glared. “Wake up, freak!” She hollered and Harry jumped, snapping into wakefulness and standing immediately to his feet. “Take those wet clothes off and get in here. You have fifteen minutes to make breakfast, boy.” She left the door open, and walked away. 

Harry uncapped his hands. The butterfly fluttered its wings softly, and the child smiled. “Well, go on then, fly away.” The butterfly did as it was told, and Harry watched it go with longing, before turning and entering the house. 

As the door closed behind Harry, a tall man stood beside the tree that had nearly crushed the butterfly and watched silently. 

_XXX_

August 13th 1985.

It was strange, Evan Rosier mused later that night. Most boys Harry’s age would have ripped off the butterfly’s wings, or crushed it, or allowed it to hit the tree. But Harry had saved the creature, sheltered it and set it free. He stood, beside the tree, watching Number 4 with a frown on his face. 

There was something about the boy that was familiar to him. The sight of him, the hair, the eyes, the face, they all reminded him of someone he should know, but did not personally. Someone whom he would have never bothered to remember, but was now wishing he had. But there was something else. He couldn’t be sure, not yet, but the child was magical. He could sense the boy’s aura, bright and magical and lashing out around Harry in waves, warding off most of the rain and the chill from the night before. Something about his magic was familiar as well, dark and comforting. It reminded Evan of a time before Harry Potter had destroyed everything.

There would be plenty of time to think on the child’s magic, Evan told himself, shaking those thoughts from his head. His eyes fluttered shut, and that familiar tingling feeling spread across his skin as his body shrunk and changed. Wings sprouted from his back, antenna appeared on his forehead, and fur covered his short, skinny body. Two large, beady eyes peered out from the fur on his face, and the butterfly beat its wings and flew towards the open window of Number 4, Privet Drive. 

The house appeared to be empty. Evan saw no body as he flew around, popping in and out of rooms, stopping to rest on furniture and generally investigate his future home. Ever since the defeat of Lord Voldemort Evan, as a Death Eater, had been hunted by the Ministry. Going from Ministry official and Inner Circle supporter of the Dark Lord, to a fugitive forced to hide as his animagus form – the butterfly – was quite a shock to his system. Over the last four years, Evan had barely spent any time in his human form. Quick moments here and there, snatched hours when he was absolutely sure he was alone. Being a butterfly conserved more energy, he needed to eat less, his hiding places were less obvious, and he was generally safer. But, he decided, it was time to put down roots of some sort. 

If this child, who was obviously being mistreated, was magical, then he couldn’t be living with his natural parents. Unless it was a Mudblood, but Harry’s magic felt too strong for that. Maybe the child was important? Or an orphan from the war, though if so Evan would have likely suggested his parents were dark supporters. The aura the child had given off the night before was strong and dark, and oh so familiar, but Evan just could not remember where he had felt it before. 

He flew past the cupboard under the stairs, and paused. He hovered in mid air, beating his wings slowly to keep himself afloat, and he gazed at the slitted vent on the cupboard door. He could make out a small head of black hair, and he could hear the muffled sobs the child let out. 

He had the urge to change, to rip the door open and demand to know why the hell those Muggles thought they would get away with abusing a Wizard. But he knew better than that. He hadn’t been a Slytherin at Hogwarts for nothing. He would be cool, calm and collected, sly and suspicious, cynical and calculated, and he would never, never let his guard down until such a time as the child proved himself just as cunning and cruel as Evan could be. He would bind his time for now, he promised himself as he flew passed the door. He would wait to see how useful the child would be to him. If the child were of use, he would protect the child himself. If the child was not of use, he would make an anonymous call to the Ministry, and he would leave the house and the child behind him. 

He made his way into the kitchen. There was a door open to his left, just beside a large refrigerator. He flew down the stairs, and into a large wide-open space. The basement was dusty, and damp, but it would do well enough for a while. Evan changed back, rolling his shoulders and head to work out the kink in his neck. He took a look around, his hand out but his fingers not quite touching anything, but his eyes were wide and watchful, wary. Nothing appeared to be magical, and nothing appeared to be dangerous. 

It was widely know that he was on of Lord Voldemort’s top Death Eaters, along with Malfoy and the Lestranges. What many people didn’t know was why. Evan had always found it incredibly useful to be able to sense people’s auras. He was very good at catching people out under invisibility cloaks, or Polyjuice potion, or disillusionment charms. He could tell if they were light or dark orientated, or neutral, or scared, angry, happy, or any variation of those. Their auras would flare up, the feeling their magic gave out would change, and Evan would pick up on it and report directly to his Lord. Not only that, but he was among the scant few Wizards and Witches who could perform wandless magic effortlessly. Anyone could master a non-verbal spell with time and practise, but it took true power and skill to cast a spell wandlessly. 

Evan waved his hand, and a light flickered into being above his head. Another wave of his hand set up Muggle repelling wards around the door leading to the basement, and a third wave removed the dust and dirt from the floor and the boxes that were scattered around. There was a mattress propped against the wall, and Evan lowered it to the floor, pressing against it to check the springs. After deeming it suitable, he laid down on it, blanket less, and closed his eyes. He could have transfigured it in to something more fancy and pompous but he decided against it. If this child wasn’t orphaned, he didn’t want to run the risk of other magical family members coming to check on the boy. It wouldn’t do for them to find any evidence of his existence. 

He was still awake three hours later when he heard the front door open and slam shut again. A loud banging echoed down to him, and a voice screamed, “Stop crying you freak!” It was suddenly silent then for just a moment, before another door opened and a cry rang out. Evan recognized the noise of skin against skin, and his nails dug into the palms of his hands as he fought with himself. He would not interfere. He could not interfere, despite how much the cries of Harry were tugging at him. It was quite soon after, the Muggle had obviously finished beating the little boy, and Evan allowed himself to relax just a bit. 

Tomorrow, in the morning, he would find out more about Harry. And he would decide what to do from thereon. 

_XXX_

August 15th 1985. 

When the Muggles left the house the morning before, Evan had flown around, searching for Harry but he hadn’t been there. He had spent the night lying flat on his mattress, squeezing the edges of it harshly as he listened to two Muggles screaming abuse at Harry. Fortunately, Evan didn’t hear them hitting the child this time, so while Harry spent the night crying, he wasn’t busied and beaten. 

The male Muggle left the house early this morning, possibly going to work. The woman left shortly after with their Muggle child, talking about shopping and signing him up for primary school in September. Harry had stood silently in the doorway of the kitchen, his hands covered by rubber gloves that dripped water onto his feet. He had paused in his washing of the dishes so he could watch jealously as Dudley was taken out of the house and he was once again left behind. 

The butterfly landed on the kitchen windowsill. Harry noticed it as he stopped in front of the sink again. It was small, with a short fluffy body. It’s wings were a deep green, with splashes of brown across them, and Harry thought it was beautiful. A smile spread on Harry’s face. 

“Hello again. Are you the same butterfly?” He pulled off his gloves, and very slowly reached out one finger. It was a centimetre away from Evan when a puff of wind blew in through the open window and ruffled Harry’s fringe. Evan caught the barest glimpse of Harry’s lightening bolt scar and anger surged through him. This child, this boy who he had pitied and wanted desperately to protect, was the reason he was forced to hide as an insect! He surged into the air, and out through the open window. 

Harry lowered his arm slowly. Tears sprung to his eyes, but he blinked them back. He had enough to cry about in his life; he didn’t need to cry over bugs as well. So what if even a butterfly couldn’t stand to be in his presence?

 _XXX_

August 25th 1985. 

It took ten days for Evan to calm down. 

At first he felt mildly pleased to know that the cause of Lord Voldemort’s downfall was being punished – by Muggles, but punished nonetheless. It took three days for him to realize that filthy Muggles didn’t have the right to punish any Wizard, not even the Boy-Who-Lived. Two more days made him realize that he was angry with the Muggles and not with Harry anymore. It was the seventh day he had been away that he decided he might have been hasty in leaving the warm, rain free basement he had spent three days hiding in. It was last night that Evan finally stopped denying that fact that what had happened to him, and to Lord Voldemort, was not Harry’s fault. The boy had been a year old; it would have been impossible for him to plan any sort of attack against the Dark Lord. 

When Evan woke up this morning he realized that Harry could become of very much use to him, if taught correctly. 

The butterfly settled onto the mattress in the basement of Number 4. Evan didn’t bothered to look around before he changed. The Muggles were unable to bypass his wards, and Harry was almost always locked in the cupboard under the stairs. He lay back against the mattress, his eyes closing despite the fact that it was only noon, and he drifted into a light doze. 

Outside the house, Harry attempted to garden. The child was five years old, and he had been living with the Dursley family for little under four years. Since he was tall enough to reach the stove, they forced Harry to cook. Since he was able to carry buckets full of water, they forced Harry to clean. And they always made Harry do the gardening, whether it was sunny or raining, since he was old enough to tell the difference between a weed and a flower. 

He pushed the small spade into the dirt and wriggled it harshly. The ground loosened, and Harry reached down and tugged up the weed by the roots. He threw it into the bucket beside him. Moments later, the weed flew back at him and hit him in the head. 

Beside him, his cousin, Dudley chuckled loudly, reaching into the bucket for another weed. 

“Stop it!” Harry whispered as Dudley threw a lump of dirt at his head. 

Dudley just laughed again. He paused suddenly, eyes wide as a pure white butterfly landed on the daffodil just beside Harry’s hand. Dudley smirked, and Harry watched him warily, wondering what he was going to do. “Look, a butterfly.” The fatter child said, “Did you make a wish?”

“You don’t wish on butterflies,” Harry whimpered, cringing back as Dudley glared at him. 

“You do so.” Another glare. “Did you make one?”

Dudley dived forward suddenly, faster than Harry had ever seen him move, and he snatched the butterfly right off of the daffodil. Harry looked at the butterfly, hoping that Dudley wouldn’t hurt it, but he knew that was a futile wish. So instead, he wished for a friend. “Yes,” he breathed softly. 

“It doesn’t count,”1 Dudley said snidely, standing up. He squeezed his hand tightly, and Harry imagined he could hear the butterfly’s body being broken and crushed into pieces. In his imagination, it sounded like the crackling of a fire. When Dudley opened his hand, he leant forward and wiped the sticky mess onto the back of Harry’s shirt. “Freaks don’t get to make wishes.” He went back inside. 

Harry watched him go and frowned. He brushed at his back, and cringed as he felt what was left of the insect. One wing fluttered to the ground and Harry stared at it, still pure white, and felt tears rising. 

The moment he re-entered the house, his aunt Petunia grabbed a fist full of his hair and dragged him into the kitchen. She pushed him against the fridge, and Harry gave a soft whimper as she glared down at him. “What did you do, boy?” She snarled. “Why can’t I go into the basement?” 

Muggles who did not know about magic would have been turned away from anything warded with Muggle-repelling charms, having completely forgotten why they had wanted to enter the place to begin with. However, Muggles who knew of magic, such as Petunia Dursley, found her path blocked without reason, but could still remember that she wanted to go into the basement. 

“Get in there, boy,” she hissed as she flung open the door. She shoved between Harry’s shoulders and he stumbled, almost falling down the stairs except he had managed to grab onto the railing with one hand. “Clean the entire place, and then undo whatever freaky thing you did.” She turned and left him there. Slowly, Harry went back into the kitchen. He grabbed the bucket of cleaning products from the cupboard under the sink and carried it down into the basement with him. 

There was a man lying on the spare mattress that Harry had heaved down into the basement two months ago. Harry’s breath catch in his throat as he watched the man breathing softly, asleep. He left the bucket on the ground and walked over, quietly so as not to wake him, and he smiled as one hand moved forward to brush back the shoulder length brown hair. 

A hand suddenly grabbed at his wrist and Harry froze, his fingers still on Evan’s hair. “Hello,” the child whispered as brown eyes narrowed. 

“Hello Harry,” Evan said as he sat up. He was tense, ready to spring into action and defend himself if he had to. 

“My wish came true.” Harry breathed. “Dudley was wrong.” The boy let out a soft giggle, his green eyes flashing in pleasure. 

“You wished for me?” Evan asked curiously. His free hand came forward to brush Harry’s fringe away from his forehead, baring the scar. 

“I wanted a friend, and here you are.” Harry thought about jumping forward and hugging the man but decided not to press his luck. After all, Dudley never hugged any of his invisible friends. 

Evan watched him curiously, finally letting go of Harry’s arm, and he folded his own hands in his lap. A slow smirk spread across his face as he though about the possibilities being offered to him. He could be the one to raise and mould the Boy-Who-Lived. If he took care of Harry, no doubt Harry would take care of him in return, and if the Dark Lord never resurfaced he would need Harry to keep him out of Azkaban. 

“Yes, Harry,” Evan drawled slowly, still smirking, “I’m your friend. My name is Evan.” 

**XXX**

TBC :)


	3. Chapter 02

**Words:** 3,815  
 **Chapter 2**  
August 25th 1985. Little Whinging.

Evan. His name was Evan Rosier. His friend’s name was Evan Rosier. His friend. His. Harry’s friend’s name was Evan Rosier. 

The child smiled shyly, his fringe hanging in his eyes and he kept his face down turned. But Evan could see the smile. “I have a friend,” the child breathed out quietly. Evan winced, a painful feeling welled up inside of him but he pushed it down, battered it until it was gone. He could feel pity and sympathy but anything more was too much. He did not have the time to care for this child. He was here with Harry for one reason.

Self-preservation demanded it. 

Evan knew things that others often didn’t. It was one of the perks of being one of the Dark Lord’s favourites. Unlike Bellatrix Lestrange, Evan didn’t believe in boasting about his achievements, about the favour Lord Voldemort bestowed upon him, or bragging in general. He worked hard for the rewards he reaped; he earned them. He didn’t feel the need to defend himself in that respect. 

The Dark Lord feared death. It was his one weakness in the man’s own mind. But there were ways to cheat death, though all of them were barely any better than death. Unicorn blood, Necromancy, Horcruxes; all were cursed and dangerous. Sometimes, it was just better to die, Evan thought. But Voldemort didn’t think the same way. He was determined to live forever, to rule forever. 

Bellatrix had often spoken of the family ‘heirloom’ her Lord had bid her protect. She had placed the golden cup in her husband’s Gringotts Vault, and it had remained there for nearly five years now. Evan believed it to be a Horcrux. Lucius Malfoy had a diary. Neither Bellatrix nor Lucius knew what it was they possessed. Evan shouldn’t have known either, but he was once offered a ring to take care of. And though he turned the Dark Lord down, he had glimpsed enough of the object to read its aura. 

It was magical, certainly. And dark. Even darker than his Lord, if such a thing were possible. The ring felt, not evil, but not right either. There was something off about the object, and Evan knew that even without it possessing a fragment of Voldemort’s soul there would be something magically sinister about the ring.1 That was three Horcruxes that Evan knew of. Undoubtedly, if anyone were crazy enough to make more than three, it would have been Lord Voldemort. Evan believed inexplicably that there was more out there, somewhere, hidden in places only Voldemort would know to look. 

Or Dumbledore. 

Evan turned his head to look at Harry. The boy froze with his mouth open. Apparently, he had been talking, though Evan hadn’t heard a word of it lost as he was in his thoughts, and now Harry waited to be reprimanded. 

“Continue,” Evan said at last, when Harry continued to be silent. The boy scuffed his toes against the floor and hesitantly moved to sit beside Evan on the mattress. His short legs stretched out in front of him and he giggled. “What is it?” 

“My toes only reach your knees.” Harry whispered. His voice was soft, but endearing. Evan felt that he could never become annoyed with listening to Harry speak. Bellatrix’s voice irritated his ears, Narcissa’s granted on his nerves, Nott’s voice just made him want to kill things. But Harry’s voice was perfect, Evan thought, for singing or reading a story until someone fell asleep. Hypnotic. 

“Do you sing?” The Death Eater said suddenly. Harry’s eyes widened. He looked around nervously, but didn’t shake or nod his head. “Do you know any songs?” Harry gave a slow nod of his head. “Will you sing it for me? I promise I won’t laugh.” Harry remained silent still, and Evan began to feel his patience wearing. “I’m your friend.”

That seemed to do the trick, because Harry immediately sat up straighter and squared his shoulders. He was so proud of having a friend that Evan felt partially guilty for using the word to make Harry do what he wanted. “Early one morning,” the boy began. He paused to gage Evan’s reaction, but the man just smiled at him. “Just as the sun was ri-sing, I heard a maid sing in the vall-ey below.” His voice was soft, musical, and Evan was pleased. 

As Harry sang, Evan could see him gaining confidence. With a wide smirk the Death Eater studied the boy’s magic. Hs aura flared up in excitement as he launched into the chorus, “Oh don’t deceive me,” and it was a brilliant blend of emerald green and gold. “Oh never leave me.”2 Evan let Harry sing, even though he had stopped listening after the first few words. It was something that would distract Harry long enough for Evan to study him. If Harry continued with his monologue he would eventually expect an answer that Evan would be unable to give him, but if Harry sang, and when he finished, all Evan would have to say would be, “wow brilliant,” and the child would be pleased. Evan had no intention of making himself look like a bad imaginary friend during their first meeting. 

Harry’s aura was powerful, which Evan already knew. It still felt familiar to him but he had yet to learn why. Harry’s happiness, his confidence, didn’t seem to stir the darker aspects of the child’s aura. Perhaps he would have to observe Harry when he was angry or afraid? 

_XXX_

August 28th 1985.

Evan had not seen Harry for two full days. After Harry had finished singing, he had been called back up to the house and he had gone rather unwillingly. It was a little easier to make the child answer his aunt after Evan promised to be there the next time Harry came back to the basement. But Harry hadn’t come back yet. 

There had been a bang once the basement door was closed. Harry had cried out and Evan had looked up the stairs, listening for another cry or slap or bang but none had come. He had heard mumbling, hushed conversation between two people, presumably the two adult Dursleys, and then a car had backed out of the driveway. 

Evan had flown up the stairs and into the kitchen. He had waited, perched on the windowsill above the sink, and when the car came back, Harry wasn’t in it. 

He told himself that there was nothing to worry about. After all, why would he be worried about someone he barely knew, despite the fact that he was a sweet innocent child who was being abused, and was probably afraid and abandoned, or dead at the side of the road, or –

No. He told himself there was nothing to worry about, and he went back to the basement and he waited. Harry hadn’t come yesterday, or today. Even Evan could admit to growing a little worried at this point. Perhaps he should fly up there and listen in on any of their discussions? He could often hear them mumbling about ‘the freak’ and something about the basement, and Evan could only guess that Harry had been punished somehow for not being able to take down the wards Evan had raised. 

The doorbell rang. 

Footsteps echoed above his head, as someone ran to answer the door. Evan exhaled loudly, relieved more than he cared to admit, when he heard Harry’s voice. He was sitting at the door at the top of the stairs, listening through the keyhole. He wandlessly cast a ‘Sonorous’ in the direction of the Muggles. 

Mrs Figg lived two streets down from the Dursleys and whenever the Dursleys wanted to go out somewhere they always left Harry with the old woman. Evan sniffed lightly, pressing his face closer to the door as if he could see through it. He could feel it, a brief tickling across his skin, just like after you give yourself an electric shock. The woman was magical, he could tell that much. Though he doubted she had much in the way of power. A Squib then, he decided. She couldn’t be much of a threat to him. 

The Squib was the one who was speaking now. “Petunia! I don’t understand how it could have happened.”

“I told you,” the horse-faced woman hissed. “He is a very clumsy child. He fell down the basement stairs.” 

“Strange.” Mrs Figg mused out loud, “For he never fell once the two days he spent with me.” 

“Yes well,” Vernon Dursley said, clearing his throat. “Boys will be boys.” 

“Are you implying that your son pushed him down the stairs, sir?” She asked again, narrowing her eyes. Harry stood at her side, trembling lightly. His left arm was in a cast, and there was a patch of black on it that once read ‘get well soon’ but had since half rubbed off in the rain. 

“How- How dare you speak of my Dudders like that!” Petunia shrieked. She grabbed the woman by the shoulders and began to push her out of the house. “Get out, get out now. How dare you come into my house and speak about my son like that!” 

“Very well I’ll leave. But should something like this happen again, I promise you, I won’t be bringing him back.” Mrs Figg turned and strode away, without so much as a goodbye to Harry. 

The child flinched back as Vernon spoke. “All the more reason to break his other arm,” the man muttered to his wife. 

She glanced at him, and then at Harry as if she was considering it, but then she looked out of the door. Mrs Figg was standing at the end of their driveway, staring at her. Petunia cringed and slammed the door shut. “Go to your cupboard.” 

_XXX_

August 29th 1985.

“Where were you?” Harry asked Evan the following day. His aunt had let him out of the cupboard under the stairs where he slept and told him to clean the upstairs bathroom. As Harry was cleaning, Vernon received a phone call from Grunnings, the company he worked for, and they all went out to some sort of meeting. Harry was forgotten about again, which was a good thing this time as it meant that he wasn’t locked back up. 

“I was here. Where were you?” 

“I was at Mrs Figg’s house. She’s a little strange,” the child blushed guiltily as he said that, “but she’s a lot nicer to me than, well, them.” 

“Why were you at the Squibs house?”

Harry thought about asking what a ‘Squib’ was, but decided to answer his friend’s question first. “They said I did something to the door. My aunt couldn’t get into the basement, and they said it was my fault. I told them I didn’t do anything, that maybe she was pushing the door the wrong way. I should have known better. I shouldn’t have talked back. My uncle, he pushed me, and I tripped over the brush and fell on my arm. I hit my head as well, but the bruise already healed. They don’t like it when people see me hurt. They always send me to Mrs Figg’s house when they go out or when I get hurt too badly.”

“How often do they hurt you badly?” Evan asked calmly. Inside he desperately wanted to kill the Muggles, but outwardly he looked like he wasn’t affected in the least by what Harry was telling him. 

The boy pursed his lips as he thought. He counted on his fingers and then held them up to Evan. “Four times I think. But once it was Ripper. He’s aunt Marge’s dog. I don’t like them either.” 

“I see.” Evan said. His fingernails bit into the palms of his hands. A trickle of blood appeared and ran down one of Evan’s wrists, and if Harry noticed he didn’t say anything. Instead, he smiled softly, and leant forward as Evan reached out to brush his hair back.

“Evan,” he asked hesitantly. The Death Eater nodded. “What’s a Squib?”

“I’ll tell you when you are older, child,” Evan said with a chuckle. “Now, before I send you back upstairs, what school do you attend?” 

“I don’t go to school. Dudley is in his first year at the Primary school six streets over, but freaks aren’t allowed my aunt says.” Evan made a displeased humming noise. “But it doesn’t matter cause I can count to ten, and I can read some words anyway, and I know all my shapes-”

“How many sides does an octagon have?” Evan interrupted with a smug expression. 

Harry trailed off, looking extremely puzzled. “Uh, I know most of my shapes,” he corrected. “And you said I could sing. Dudley can’t sing. So I don’t really need to go to school, right?”

“Of course you do. But in the mean time, count to ten for me.” Harry did so with ease. “What comes after ten?” 

“Twelve? Eleven! Eleven does. And then twelve?”

“Yes, Harry, and then?” 

Evan continued to question Harry for the next two hours, asking him the order of numbers, the spelling of words, directions, shapes, colours, anything he could think of. Harry learnt quickly. If he didn’t know the answer he would say so, and when Evan told him it he memorized it almost at once, repeating the answer to himself twice before telling Evan he was ready to move the lesson along. 

When the Dursleys were in bed, and Harry was locked back in his cupboard, Evan flew into the kitchen. He landed on the floor and waited calmly while the change took place. Shifting from man to butterfly to man came as easy as breathing to the Wizard; he had been doing it for so often. The human brushed down his robes. Evan had spent so little time as a human in the past four years that his robes barely looked worn, though he had been wearing them since the night the Aurors broke into his home to arrest him. 

Evan frowned as he looked around the hallway and rooms. There were family portraits everywhere, from the walls, to the bookcases and side tables, hung over the doors and balanced on top of the TV and radio. None of them included Harry. If Evan hadn’t spoken to Harry for himself, he would never know the boy lived here, or even existed. 

He found the yellow pages quickly enough. Four years of hiding in the Muggle world, even as an insect was plenty of time to learn the basics about how Muggles communicated. He doubted that social services would enjoy an owl flying in through their window this late in the day. It wasn’t actually that late, he thought to himself, but everyone knew Muggles were weird. 

He found the phone number he was looking for and he picked up the phone and dialled. He let the phone ring, tapping his fingers lightly against the side table. 

Evan was standing directly in front of the cupboard under the stairs, where Harry was probably asleep, dreaming of a better family. How was it that Harry had ended up here anyway? Evan thought back, trying to remember everything he knew about Harry’s family. 

His mother, Lily, was Muggleborn, and these vile Muggles were obviously relatives of hers. James Potter, his father, was an only child. James’ parents had died the year before Harry was born, and Evan recalled that while Voldemort had received the blame, the explosion that collapsed part of Potter Manor had not actually been on his Lord’s orders. Lily’s parents were presumably dead. Petunia never spoke of them, and there were no pictures of anyone but Vernon, Petunia and Dudley in the house. It was like she had no other family, wanted no other family. Did Harry have any godparents? There was the Longbottom woman, but she was hardly a capable guardian. Driven to insanity by Bellatrix, Alice and her husband now both resided in St Mungos, and were incapable of raising their own son, let alone Harry Potter. 

Evan thought he heard Fenrir Greyback once mention that one of the pups he turned had a godchild. The pup was a friend of James’, but Evan doubted that even Potter was a fool enough to leave his child to a werewolf. As a pureblood, James should have known that Harry would never have been placed in a werewolf’s care by the Ministry, regardless if that was what his will wanted. 

It really appeared as if there was no one else to care for Harry. 

Evan snorted; the idea seemed ludicrous. Surely there was someone out there willing to look after the Boy-Who-Lived? As closely related as all Purebloods were, how could there not be someone still alive who would be a relative of Harry’s? 

“Sorry, hello?” A voice asked through the phone. 

Evan scowled down at it. He pursed his lips, then cleared his throat and said, “yes, hello. I would like to report that I know of a child who is being purposely kept out of the education system.”

“How old is this child?”

“He was five last month. He lives with his aunt, and her family, in Little Whinging, Surrey.” 

“May I have your name and telephone number, please sir?” The woman asked. 

“I would like to remain anonymous, but the child’s name is Harry Potter. He lives at Number 4, Privet Drive.” Evan hung up the phone with a smile. As he walked passed the cupboard he pressed his hand over the grill, stroking it lightly with his fingertips. He didn’t say anything. He stood for a few more moments, listening to Harry’s light breathing through the door, before he walked back down into the basement. 

Evan lay himself down onto the mattress, folding his hands behind his head as he looked up at the ceiling. He soon lost himself in thoughts of Harry, and Lord Voldemort, and what his future might bring. Maybe, one day, he might take Harry away from here. He had never considered himself parent material. He had never much liked children, or anyone for that matter to be honest, but children had always been nothing more than a way to keep bloodlines going in his eyes. 

Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, Nott; they all had children to carry on their names. And for the most part, from what he had seen, they were decent enough parents as well as strict Heads of Houses. Nott admittedly was a crap father. He treated his eldest son the same way Evan had always imaged he would behave around a child of his own. Nott acted like the boy wasn’t there. The House Elves reared him, fed him, clothed him, and his mother was dead. Nott’s second son, with his new wife, would probably be in Harry’s year at Hogwarts. Evan hadn’t seen that boy much, but he doubted Nott Sr would be any different towards him, than with his firstborn.

Malfoy was very careful to keep his son away from Evan. That was a pointless endeavour really: Evan didn’t much care for blonds. But then again, Malfoy had found it very difficult to conceive a child. His wife had suffered two miscarriages, and a stillborn before Draco had arrived, and the child was understandably spoiled rotten. Evan could see why Lucius was protective of the only child he would likely ever have. 

Evan had always favoured the raids where there were children involved. 

Muggle children were different to Wizarding children, in most people’s minds. Wizarding children were scarce. There was enough for three schools throughout Europe, compared to three schools in each neighbourhood for the Muggle children. For the most part, that was due to Pureblood parents having one child each. But also because it was becoming harder and harder to carry children full term with all of the inbreeding that took place. To many people Muggles children were as bad as their Muggle parents. Children could be cruel, and spiteful, and downright evil at times, but they were still children if they were magical. If they were Muggle, most people just told themselves that children or not, one day they’d grow up to be just like their parents. It made killing them that much easier. 

Evan never lied to himself. Children were children whether they could do magic or not. To him, the only difference was that he didn’t like Muggle ones.

Lucius Malfoy never participated on a raid where they were expected to kill children. As one of Lord Voldemort’s favourites, Lucius got away with it. He attended, he gave orders, and he watched never once helping. But he never took part. He wouldn’t even torture the adults; he merely watched the children die. 

Evan always insisted that made Lucius a sicker person than him. Evan wasn’t that bad, really. Sure he liked to torture children, and he enjoyed watching them cry and scream in pain. But who didn’t? Except Malfoy, of course, which made the blond Wizard the weird one. Merlin, even Avery preferred to bed children than Witches! 

Evan didn’t like children. He had never imagined marrying and having a child, because he didn’t want one. He told himself he didn’t want Harry either. He told himself that he only cared because Harry was a Wizard, and he was being abused by a _Muggle_. Of all the filthy creatures in the world, Muggles were the worst. No Muggle had the right to harm a Wizard or a Witch. Even Muggleborns were better than Muggles, they at least could do magic. There was some hope for them. 

Evan wanted to take Harry away and care for him. 

It was strange, and wrong. He shouldn’t want to care for the boy. He barely knew him. He couldn’t possibly like him already. Nor love the child. And yet Evan couldn’t imagine leaving this house without the boy in toe. 

The Death Eater snorted and closed his eyes. Still lost in thought. 

He would have to do something about the very annoying feelings that were beginning to surface. It wouldn’t do to get attached to someone who would be of no use to Evan in the future. Harry needed to be of use, or Evan would have no need of Harry. It was as simple, as Slytherin, as that. 

Rosier had time. He could afford to stay here for a while longer, for the foreseeable future possibly. He could continue to study Harry when they were together, test his aptitude, and contemplate the boy when Evan was alone. Maybe, if Harry proved to be worthwhile, Evan would try to teach him some magic. He’d wait to see how Harry performed and he’d try to find out why Harry’s aura felt so familiar before he passed judgement. 

Until then, Evan would stay at Number 4. 

**XXX**

1 – The Ring is the Resurrection Stone, one of the three Deathly Hallows.   
2 – “Never Leave Me”, an Irish Folk song, but no one seems to know by whom. It was used in Season 7 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, as Spike’s ‘trigger’ word.


	4. Chapter 03

**Words:** 2,325  
**Chapter 3** August 31st 1985. Little Whinging. 

**The doorbell rang, and Petunia hurried out of the kitchen. Harry stayed where he was, crouched against the sink with his arms raised over his head. His aunt had just been about to hit him with a milk saucepan, and Harry wasn’t going to put his arms down and risk getting hit when Petunia came back inside.**

**She came back into the kitchen quickly enough, but without the saucepan. There was a middle-ages woman with her. The Muggle was pale and red headed, and Petunia sneered at her whenever she wasn’t looking. Harry thought she looked a little bit like how Evan described Lily Potter: maybe that was why Petunia hated her?**

**“Can I help you?” Petunia hissed, trying to force a polite smile onto her face.**

**The woman had introduced herself at the door, and told Petunia she had better explain inside of the house. “Is your husband here?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She looked around the kitchen, spotted Harry who was still tensed and waiting to be smacked, and pursed her lips. “This is Harry Potter I presume? Hello young man,” she held a hand out towards him, but he merely stared at it wide eyed. She cleared her throat and drew back her hand. When it was by her side, and not close enough to strike Harry, he spoke.**

**“Hello to you too, Mrs. How are you?”**

**“I’m very well, dear. You?” The woman pulled a clipboard out of the satchel she was wearing on her shoulder. “Could I ask you some questions please?”**

**Harry nodded, even as Petunia said, “No.”**

**The woman invited herself to sit down at the table. Her name was Jane Neville, and she was a social worker. “Why aren’t you at school, Harry?”**

**It was the first day for primary school to be starting up again. Dudley had been attending a summer school to prepare him for the differences between nursery school and ‘big boys’ school, as Vernon called it. Harry hadn’t attended. But to Harry he didn’t see a difference. School was school, and no matter what they taught, Harry hadn’t been allowed to attend. Dudley’s first day was today, and the older fiver-year-old had taken great pleasure in rubbing it in Harry’s face, and then hitting him with his schoolbooks.**

**“I don’t go to school.” He said softly, shooting worried looks over Jane’s shoulder. His aunt was glaring at him, her mouth turned down into a frown and her fists were clenched at her sides. “I’m not allowed.”**

**“Do you want to go to school?” She asked softly.**

**“Which school?” Harry needed to know whether going to school would mean being in the same building as Dudley for most of the day. When Dudley was at school, and Vernon was at work, and Petunia went to the supermarket, Harry was allowed to spend time in the basement with Evan.**

**“The primary school down the road. Your cousin goes there, doesn’t he?”**

**Harry’s nose wrinkled. “Yeah, he does.” The boy let out a sigh. He didn’t want to go to school with Dudley, but Evan wanted him to go to school. Evan had told him as much. Evan was a good friend to him. Evan promised to always be his friend; the least Harry could do in return was go to school. “Yes I want to go to school.”**

**“Well, Harry, that’s really all I need to speak to you about. If I could talk to your aunt in private, please?” Harry looked at Petunia who gave a stiff nod. He covered a smile, whispered ‘goodbye’ to the woman and opened the door that led to the basement.**

**“Evan?” He called softly as he walked down the stairs. He knew better than to startle Evan. The man didn’t appreciate being woken up suddenly. It was mid-day but Evan had very strange sleeping patterns, Harry had noticed. He didn’t think they were anything strange, though. After all, Evan was imaginary so he could have imaginary sleep whenever he wanted. “Are you awake?”**

**“What are you doing here?” The butterfly that was hanging off of the light bulb fluttered down, changing into a man as it touched off of the ground. Harry gave a delighted gasp, as Evan seemed to appear out of thin air.**

**“There’s a social worker upstairs. I think I get to go to school.” He told his friend.**

**Evan held a hand out, and the five-year-old took it with a delighted smile. He still hadn’t worked up the courage to hug his imaginary friend, but he always looked forwards to the occasional times when Evan would ruffle his hair, or take his hand, or they would sit side by side and Harry would feel Evan’s leg pressing against his own. It always made it feel more real when he could feel Evan.**

**Harry had asked Dudley about imaginary friends. His cousin had punched him in the face, laughed and told Harry that it figured, because no one real would want to be his friend. Dudley never touched his imaginary friends, though he did get them to beat up imaginary freaks – that only happened when Dudley had just hit Harry. All freaks deserved to be smacked around. That was the Dursley motto.**

**If imaginary friends couldn’t be touched, but Evan could be touched, did that mean Evan might be real? The thought of it gave Harry a sudden chill. He trembled lightly, and Evan squeezed his hand in comfort thinking that the boy was worried about his relatives’ reactions. Evan might be real. That would be like a dream come true for Harry. Someone real, someone who could take him away from the Dursleys and care for him. Someone who would love him. He turned to Evan, and offered him a blinding smile.**

**The Death Eater gave a small twitch of his lips in return. His brow was furrowed as he wondered what Harry was thinking about. Surely, he couldn’t be that happy about school?**

**_XXX_ **

**When Vernon came home, with Dudley in tow, Petunia was waiting at the front door.**

**Harry was back in his cupboard and he wasn’t going to be let out until the next morning. Harry had left the basement when he grew hungry. He tried to tell Evan that it didn’t matter, that he wouldn’t be fed anyway, but Evan had insisted he get something to eat. Petunia had dragged him towards the cupboard the minute she saw him in the kitchen. The boy had thought about complaining that he was hungry, but it was as if Petunia knew what he was thinking because she turned to him and smacked his right across the face. She pushed him into the cupboard and locked the door, her eyes spitting daggers at Harry the whole time.**

**Dudley had been sent to his room to clean up before dinner. Vernon was dragged into the kitchen.**

**“Someone knows!” Petunia hissed. “Someone called social services.” She was wringing her hands in front of her stomach nervously. “They’re coming back. They want to investigate the freaks home life, and the said they were going to look into Dudley’s care as well.”**

**“How dare they imply that we don’t take care of our son!” Vernon snarled, his face turning puce in anger. “That little freak. This is all his fault!”**

**“No! No, Vernon,” Petunia screamed as her husband made his way towards the cupboard. “What if they’re still watching?” She whimpered.**

**He stepped back into the kitchen and closed the door. “They can’t watch him all of the time.” He promised himself. The freak would pay.**

**_XXX_ **

**September 1st 1985. Little Whinging Primary School.**

**Harry had missed the first day of school.**

**For children, the first day is when friends are made and cliques are formed. Its when everyone groups off with the people they’ve known since birth and away from those who no one seems to like, so the loners all group off together. But Harry hadn’t been there.**

**He didn’t think he was going to like school very much.**

**Dudley and his friend Piers, who lived on the same street as them, had already befriended all of the bigger boys in their year. It was a gang of bullies versus the other first year students, but they had all formed groups as well, hoping to protect themselves with larger numbers since they lacked in size. Harry didn’t have any such protection.**

**A small red headed boy had tried to talk to him, but Danny Smith had kicked him in the back. The boy, whose name was David, had fallen over with a cry. Once he was on the floor, Danny had stood on him, digging his heels into David’s back and making the boy squeal, tears streaming down his face.**

**“No one is to be friends with the freak, is that understood?” Dudley commanded, walking over to place a hand imperiously on Danny’s shoulder.**

**When they finally let David get up off of the floor, he had run away without a backwards glance to Harry. No one else had even dared look at the green-eyed boy after that.**

**In their first class, they were painting, and Dudley took great pains to throw as much paint onto Harry’s clothes as possible. He knew his mother would be very angry with Harry for ruining his clothing, despite the fact that they were Dudley’s hand-me-downs and had seen much better days. During their morning break, when all of the children were outside playing, Harry was hiding behind the industrial dustbins. Dudley’s new friends had spotted him the moment he walked out of the building and they had begun chasing him.**

**Harry spent his lunch break locked inside of the library, which was fun because he had locked it from the inside so no one could go in after him. He knew all of his letters, and Evan was helping him with the harder words and their meanings. He found a low-grade book and pulled it down, flipping through it. The first few pages were easy enough, though he had to sound out a few words twice before he got the hang of them. By the time he got to the middle of the book he had found a few words he didn’t understand, and he tried to remember them so he could ask Evan what they meant. He didn’t have any money, or sandwiches, or anything like that with him, so he was rather hungry. But he knew better than to ask for food.**

**No one had told Harry that primary school lunches were free. They were paid for at the beginning of the year along with the tuition fees that parents ‘donated’ to the schools.1**

**When Harry had left the library to go to his last class of the day, which was story hour, Dudley had found him alone in the corridor. Harry had been pushed into an empty room and Dudley had turned the lock and walked away, leaving Harry trapped inside. When the teachers found Harry they had felt bad for him because the boy was curled into a ball, crying his eyes out, while clutching at his knees. But when they had rang Petunia Dursley to come pick him up, since he had missed the school bus home (very strange that he was meant to take the bus when Vernon drove in to pick up Dudley every day, but no one questioned it) she had been rather cold and insisted that Harry would prefer to walk.**

**It was only a fifteen-minute walk, but Harry was five! His math teacher, who was rather pleased with Harry’s progress so far, offered to walk him home on his way. Adam Grange was in his mid-twenties and he knew what it was like to be neglected by parents. His own hadn’t been that fond of him, always too busy fussing over his much older sister. But he had never been hit, and he didn’t realize that Harry was hit regularly or he wouldn’t have left the boy at the end of the driveway to Number 4 to face his uncle’s wrath.**

**When Mr. Grange was out of eyesight, Harry knocked on the door softly. Vernon’s fist came out, before the door was even fully opened, and grabbed hold of Harry’s hair. He dragged the boy inside, and smacked him twice across the face: once for ruining his clothes, and once again for embarrassing them by refusing to come home. Harry didn’t even try to defend himself.**

**When Vernon finally grew tired of shouting at him, the man shoved him away. Harry fell to his knees, hissing as they scrapped against the carpet, but waited until he was dismissed before he stood up. Warily, not wanting to be caught going not to the cupboard like he had been told to go, but to the basement, Harry headed into the kitchen shooting frantic looks over his shoulders. He opened the door, and slowly began to walk down the stairs.**

**“What are you doing?” He asked Evan. The Death Eater was holding a stick in the air, waving it in a circle, and muttering something in a language Harry couldn’t understand.**

**“Magic,” the man said simply.**

**Harry tilted his head to the side, trying to decide if Evan was being serious or not. Vernon had always said magic didn’t exist. Dudley wasn’t even allowed to watch Disney films, so magic really mustn’t be real! Harry just nodded; silently deciding that Evan was making a joke. He flopped down onto the mattress, and sighed.**

**“I hate school.”**

**Evan looked at him out of the corner of his eyes. He tucked his wand away inside of his sleeve, knowing that Harry wasn’t looking. The boy was bruised again, and his clothes were dirty and paint splattered. “I know.” He said softly in reply, reaching out one hand to rest on top of Harry’s black hair.**

****XXX** **

**1 – In my primary school they used to send letters home asking for ‘mandatory donations’: which is a bit of a contradiction don’t you think?**


	5. Chapter 04

**Words:** 3,630  
 **Chapter 4**  
May 27th 1986. Little Whinging Primary School. 

Harry couldn’t remember the last time he had run so fast. He could hear them behind him, all five of them gaining on him. He knew he needed to run faster, but he didn’t think he could. How could he go any faster when he felt as if his lungs were about to burst and his legs had turned to jelly? Harry knew he couldn’t let them catch him. 

Dudley had been off sick for three days with the flu, and no doubt every one of his friends thought that it was Harry’s fault. They blamed everything on the freak, both at home and in school. Aunt Petunia had refused to feed him until Dudley got better again. Fortunately for Harry, two months after he started school, he had figured out that the food in the canteen was free. Mr. Grange was even nice enough to bring a plate of food into the library for Harry, after the fifth time he had caught Harry hiding there instead of going to the canteen. He didn’t mind not eating at home, when he could eat as much as he wanted in school. 

“There he is!” Danny Smith screamed. 

Andy Young gave a ‘whoop’, and sped up. “Get him!” He hollered. 

Harry gave a soft cry, forcing himself to move faster. He needed to run, and run, and run. Maybe he could run all of the way home, and he and Evan could run away together? He shook his head, clearing away the thoughts that were bound to distract him, and ran around to hide behind the industrial wheelie bins. Maybe they wouldn’t see him? 

“I think the little freak is hiding.” Jason Higgins spat. 

“Come out, little freak, come out.” Piers Polkiss jeered. “We only want to play with you.”

“I see him,” Liam West said with a grin. He grabbed on to the side of the bin and tried to pull it away from the wall. Harry had wedged himself between the wall and the bin, knowing none of the other boys were small enough to fit. “Help me.” 

Harry closed his eyes tightly, tensed his legs and braced himself to begin running again. The bin moved away from him. “Got him!” Someone shouted just as Harry dove forward, eyes still closed. He fell. “Where’d he go?” Someone asked, confused. 

Harry opened his eyes, and stifled a gasp. He was on the roof of the building, lying on the floor having tripped over a ladder the caretaker had left there. How did he get up here? He grinned, his hands pressed over his mouth to stop himself giggling. The others would never be able to get up here. He was safe. All he had to do was wait for them to leave and climb down again. 

When the boys were gone, Harry peered over the edge of the roof and gasped. He hadn’t realized he was up so high. How did he get up here anyway? And how was he going to get back down?

He was dangling off the side of the building, unsure whether he should let go and fall, or climb back up and keep waiting, when his maths teacher walked past. 

“Mr. Potter?” He asked softly, frowning. 

“Hello Mr. Grange, sir.” Harry whimpered as the man placed his hands on his hips and sighed. “I’m stuck.”

“I’ll go get the caretaker. Don’t fall.” Adam ran off. When he came back another man was with him. A ladder was propped against the wall, and the second man helped Harry climb down. “How did you get up there?”

“I don’t know. I was just running and running, and then I was there, and I’m so sorry!” Harry babbled, eyes wide and glossy with tears. He was so afraid that someone would tell uncle Vernon. 

“I understand. You must not have been looking where you were going.”

He shook his head. “I had my eyes closed, sir.”

“You were very lucky not to have gotten hurt!” He exclaimed, placing a light hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Back inside with you now. Thank you George,” he added to the caretaker as they walked away. 

_XXX_

May 27th 1986. Little Whinging. 

Aunt Marge had come to visit Number 4. She had been all a-flutter with worry when her brother had rang her up, informing her that her only nephew was ill. Convinced he was on his deathbed, she had packed up one suitcase, grabbed her prize-winning Bulldog and driven straight to Little Whinging. 

“Oh Vernon,” she exclaimed, “oh dear, oh dear!” She pushed the suitcase into his arms, and shouldered past him into the house, clutching her dog under one arm. “Oh Ripper, what ever shall we do if he dies? My precious Diddydums.”

“He’s not dying, Marge,” Petunia explained with a sigh and a frown. “He’s just ill. He’ll be ok soon.”

“It was probably that freaks fault anyway,” Vernon muttered as he put her bag down at the base of the stairs. “Contagious little blighter.”

“I do not understand why you keep him, Vernon! Just pack him off to an orphanage or a whorehouse or something. It’s probably all he’ll amount to anyway. A useless, parentless tramp is all he is.” 

“We really are too kind to him,” Vernon agreed as he sat beside her on the sofa. 

“Could I have some tea, Petunia?”

Vernon nodded enthusiastically, not noticing the frown on his wife’s face at being treated like a slave in her own home. “And some biscuits too, pet.” 

With a sneer she went into the kitchen. Silently, she made the tea, and then waved a tea towel at the brown and green butterfly that was perched on top of the breadbin. “Shoo, go away, filthy insect,” she muttered. Evan flew up to the ceiling, and hung upside down just above Petunia’s head. “Pity the freak isn’t home. It’s his job to do this, useless little brat. What does he need an education for anyway?” She forced a fake smile on her face and placed the tea set on the kitchen table. “Tea’s ready.”

“Bring it in here.” Marge hollered back. 

Petunia gritted her teeth, picked up the tea set and made her way back into the living room. Evan watched her go. He fluttered back down to the breadbin and remained there unmoving for sometime. He felt no pity for her. She could be as angry, as humiliated, or as demeaned, as she liked, it would be nothing as horrible as what she and her husband made Harry feel about himself. 

_XXX_

An hour before Harry arrived home that day, the principal of the primary school rang Number 4. George, the caretaker, had mentioned having to rescue a kid from the canteen roof. Thinking nothing of it, he told them the child’s name, but Principal Harver had been well warned about Harry Potter, and the family had insisted they be informed if ever Harry did something ‘strange’, or ‘weird’, or ‘freakish’. Principal Harver figured the Dursley’s would also like to know when Harry did something ‘naughty’, so he rang them. 

He walked through the door silently, his head down and his eyes on the floor. He didn’t see Vernon reach out to him, but he felt the man grab a fist full of his hair. His head was tugged up, and wide green eyes settled on his uncle’s infuriated face. 

“What were you doing on the roof, you freak!” He hissed, spitting across Harry’s face in his anger. 

“I was- I was running, sir.”

“RUNNING? ON THE ROOF?” He hollered, his face turning a worrying shade of purple. 

“They were chasing m- me, sir. I’m s-sorry.” His eyes were watering up, but he blinked back the tears. His uncle never cared much for his tears: they just made Vernon angrier. 

“You want something to run from, boy, is that it?” Vernon threw Harry backwards, letting go of his hair. The three adults chuckled when he fell to the floor. “You remember Aunt Marge, don’t you, freak?”

“Hello, a- aunt,” Harry stuttered. He made no move to pick himself up from the floor. 

“Sister, shall we give him something to run from?” Vernon asked softly, though his eyes were bright and a horrible smile was snaking its way across his face. 

Marge gave him a grin in return, and when Harry caught sight of it he shuddered. 

“Sick ‘em, Ripper,” she said with a click of her fingers. The Bulldog who had been docile and silent, lying before the fireplace, was suddenly on his feet, snarling and slathering at the mouth. It moved towards Harry, and lunged. 

Harry threw himself out of the way, a terrified shriek leaving his mouth as he scrambled to his feet and ran past his uncle and into the kitchen. 

Evan fluttered towards the window, watching Harry tare out of the backdoor and into the garden. 

It wasn’t the first time they had let Ripper chase him. Harry had learnt the first time, that dogs can’t climb trees. And there was a rather nice Oak in the back garden whose lower branches were just low enough for Harry to reach. He scrambled for the tree, jumping and stretching out his arms. But he couldn’t reach the branches. They were too tall. He began hyperventilating, breath coming far too quickly, and he felt his vision swim for a second. 

Ripper was leaving the kitchen, slowly, like an animal they was enjoying the hunt but who also knew it was coming to an end. Ripper was savouring it, and Harry knew there was nothing he could do about it. He looked around frantically and nearly screamed when he saw the two branches he had always been able to reach lying discarded on the ground. Beside them was a chainsaw. Uncle Vernon had cut them off the tree.

“No, no, no, please, no,” he muttered holding his hands out towards Ripper, hoping to make the dog back away. “Please no, no, no,” he breathed, as tears coursed down his face. 

The three adults had walked into the garden. They spread out in front of the door, so there was no chance of Harry escaping back inside to hide, or running from the house. The back garden fence was too tall for him to climb. “Now you have something to run from, boy,” Vernon said. “I presume you won’t be so stupid as to run from Dudley’s friends in the future.”

“Please, I’m sorry, please, no, please,” Harry begged. He would have fallen to his knees and kept begging but Ripper gave another growl and took a step forward. Harry stepped back, coming flush against the tree. 

In the kitchen, Evan heard a scream and he could have sworn his heart stopped for a moment. He changed back, rushing to the window and drew back the curtains. While he knew there was a risk of being seen, he didn’t care. Suddenly, no matter how hard he had tried to deny it before, Harry was more important. The child was curled up on the ground, the Bulldog hovering over him, its mouth locked around an arm or a leg, Evan couldn’t tell. But the cries were definitely coming from his child. 

He withdrew his wand and pointed it at the dog. He didn’t think this would help Harry in the long run, but he was so angry he wasn’t able to think straight. He whispered the words of the Bone Shattering Curse and felt a sick jolt of pleasure as a ‘snap’ and a ‘crack’ echoed through the garden. The dog began to howl and whimper, its cries louder than Harry’s. It left the child, dropped to the ground and whined pathetically until its throat was too sore to continue. Marge ran towards her pet, cooing and fussing, and Evan waved his wand again. 

Suddenly, Ripper was on his feet, despite the fact that one of them was broken. His jaw had been shattered by the Curse but it magically managed to catch onto Marge’s throat. The Bulldog tugged viciously, ignoring Marge’s attempts to pry him off. He tugged again; each movement of his head was in sync with Evan waving his wand. Marge gave a gurgle when Ripper let go. Her hands clutched her throat but it wasn’t enough to stem the flow of blood, or hide the four large gashes – like lots of little mouths – that decorated her neck now. 

“Call an ambulance,” Vernon whispered. He went to the shed, and grabbed his shotgun. He waited, pointing it at Ripper who had lain down on the floor again, its eyes dulled with pain. Vernon didn’t risk going near the dog, his sister or his freak nephew, who was still sniffling pathetically. 

By the time the ambulance came, Marge Dursley was already dead. Ripper was taken into police custody to be destroyed, and Harry Potter was loaded up onto a stretcher. As he was about to be placed into the back of an ambulance, Vernon moved to stop the paramedics. Evan had hidden when the ambulance pulled up outside, but he turned back and hurried to blend in with the crowd. He waved his wand at Vernon’s head; quickly silencing any protests the man might have to Harry receiving medical treatment. Then he turned into a butterfly, and landed on Harry’s left cheek. He ignored every attempt they made to shoo him away, and eventually he was loaded into the ambulance with his child. 

_XXX_

May 30th 1986. Surrey General Hospital. 

Evan finally knew what he was seeing. He had understood why exactly it was that Harry felt so familiar to him. 

When Ripper was attacking Harry, Harry had been absolutely terrified, and the pain he felt had been incredible. In the ambulance, Evan had tried to read Harry’s aura, allowing his magic to come out and interact with Harry’s, and the anger – the fury – he had felt was indescribable. Harry had never struck him as someone who would actively seek vengeance, but Evan couldn’t deny he had felt it. Harry’s need for revenge, for retribution. The child, his sweet, innocent, abused child wanted to torture and kill his Muggles. 

Evan had tried to narrow down the aspects of Harry that wished to hurt the Dursleys. What part of him, of his magic, wanted specifically to cause them pain? Harry’s aura was generally made up of light colours, but there was one large splotch of black that encircled the boy’s head. Evan had never noticed it before, but then again he had never really been around Harry when he was seriously hurt. When the boy broke his arm, he was at Mrs. Figg’s house for three days. But the time he returned he had almost healed. 

He had been in the hospital for three days now as well, and they were letting him go home tomorrow. The doctors said his response rate was incredible, he was healing spectacularly; so much so that they doubted Harry would even have a scar. It was a medical miracle they whispered to one another, and only Harry and Evan heard them. The Dursleys hadn’t even bothered to visit. 

The black was decreasing day by day, but it was too late. Evan had already recognized it. 

Harry was a Horcrux. 

Evan went in search of paper and a pen, and he found both at the nurse’s station. Without asking, he helped himself to what he needed and left again. He penned the letter quickly, and he waited until Harry had been given his pain medication before he snuck away from the hospital. Harry wouldn’t wake up until the medication wore off, and by then Evan would have found an owl to deliver his letter and he would be back, sitting in the chair beside Harry’s hospital bed, with a smile. 

He felt it was time to tell Harry about magic. 

_XXX_

May 30th 1986. Wiltshire, Malfoy Manor.

Lucius Malfoy was sitting in his study when the owl arrived. It may have just been a coincidence, but his Dark Mark had burned for just a second three days ago, and ever since he had been determined to figure out why. He turned the small black diary over in his hands, frowning at it. The front cover was inscribed with ‘T.M.R.’ in gold letters, but all of its pages were blank. It was important, Lucius knew that much, but why? Evan hadn’t wanted it, Evan had thought it was evil and unnatural, but surely it was just a book? Bellatrix had something similar, Lucius knew, but he didn’t know what. While she had bragged about it, she had never said exactly what it was and Lucius had never concerned himself to ask. 

He opened the study window to allow the owl inside. It was wild, Lucius could tell, so he didn’t give it any money but he did place a dish of conjured water in front of it. The letter was written on Muggle paper, and he pulled on his gloved before he unfolded the note. 

**“FAO: Lucius Malfoy”** , was written on the front. On the back of the page was the actual letter, and Lucius skimmed down to the bottom and paled when he recognized the name, **“Evan Rosier”**. He had thought Evan was dead!

**“Dear Lucius,**

**I confess it has been some time since we had a decent conversation, or even looked upon the face of one another. I wonder, at night when I cannot dream, what will happen when the Dark Lord returns. For surely, you all think me deceased. Do not deny it. I have not been seen or heard from for almost five years now; it is natural for you all to assume the worst for me.**

**Though, this was not why I wrote you.**

**I do not lie to myself, ever, but I also never lower myself to beg. However, in this instance, I cannot not ask for what I wish to ask, even if I must beg for it, for not to ask would be like lying and insisting I do not need what I ask. What is it I ask, you must be asking yourself? Perhaps I just wished to confuse you.**

**I wish for your help.**

**Do you remember the diary our Lord left in your possession? It is a Horcrux. I will not tell you what a Horcrux is, for I mustn’t ruin all of the fun. How would you learn anything if someone tells you everything, after all? Bellatrix has a Horcrux that belongs to our Lord as well. And, though I did not want one when offered, I have found myself in possession of one nonetheless. I found it, you might say, quite accidentally. Well, actually, Harry found me.**

**His name is Harry. And he is a Wizard, as well as a Horcrux. I did not think it could be done with a human but Lord Voldemort has proved me wrong. As he has done many times in the past as well.**

**Harry needs to be trained. He knows nothing of magic, but I will see to correcting that from tomorrow onwards. I will need access to his vaults, his parents who are deceased will have Wills undoubtedly, and if they have not been released I wish them to be so at once, I will need to know if he has any living relations other than the Muggles whose home we live in right now. Disgusting, isn’t it? Living with Muggles. I’m sure you can’t even begin to imagine how we suffer. My poor Harry.**

**I will not give you his surname. I’m sure you’ll figure out who he is, and if you don’t then I obviously do not need assistance from such a simpleton. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a child waiting on me in hospital.**

**Perhaps I’ll hear from you soon, old friend? Acquaintance? Fellow Death Eater who avoided me at all possible times?**

**Nonchalantly, Evan Rosier.”**

Lucius re-read the letter twice, just to make sure he wasn’t seeing things or hallucinating. He shook his head with a sigh. How was it, irritating things like this, always seemed to happen to him? Why not Arthur Weasley? Undoubtedly, Weasley deserved all the suffering that could be heaped upon him, Lucius thought with a sneer as he stood out of the chair. With the letter in one hand and his Lord’s diary in the other, he made his way to the library. He needed to know what a Horcrux was before he made any concrete decisions on Evan’s request. 

And who could the boy be? A Wizard, whose parents were dead, and was living with Muggles… and his name was Harry. Potter? It couldn’t be! They wouldn’t allow Evan within twenty-feet of the child Saviour. Lucius swallowed heavily. He had never been fond of the Potters, especially not the Mudblood woman James married. But Harry Potter, who had somehow been strong enough to survive the Killing Curse and destroy Lord Voldemort, was now at the mercy of Rosier? It was too cruel to contemplate. 

Lucius pushed it from his mind. When he knew what a Horcrux was, he’d know whether Rosier would hurt the boy or not, at least he hoped he would know. And then he could make his decision. 

He thought of Draco, who would be the same age as Harry, and he cringed as he imagined Rosier being anywhere near his son. He admitted to himself that he had already made the decision to help Potter in anyway he could, anonymously. But he wasn’t quite ready to admit it out loud yet. Or give Rosier the satisfaction: let the man wait on him for once. ‘Nonchalantly’, yeah right. 

**XXX**


	6. Chapter 05

**Words:** 5,679  
 **Chapter 5**  
May 31st 1986. Surrey General Hospital.

Evan waited until it was dark outside. He checked the hallways for the night staff, and when he found it was empty he waved his wand in one harsh movement and cast a Muggle-Repelling Charm. He made his way back to Harry’s bedside, and stood for a moment merely smiling down on his child. He shook one thin shoulder softly, gently waking the child. 

“Evan?” Harry murmured, his eyes fluttering open, then closed again as he yawned. 

“Wake up, child. We need to speak.” Harry’s eyes immediately snapped open and he waited, watching his friend quietly. Evan sat on the edge of Harry’s bed, one hand reaching forward to run through his hair comfortingly. He liked being close to Harry, and Harry liked being touched and made to feel like he was cared about in someway. The Dursleys only ever touched him to punish him. “I am not your imaginary friend.”

“You’re not my friend?” Harry all but whimpered. 

“Of course I am. I’m just not imaginary.” Evan gripped Harry’s chin, turning his face to meet Evan’s eyes. Brown eyes narrowed as Harry gave a sniffle. “I care about you. I did not at first, I admit, at first I did not care much for you at all except as a means to an end. But it has been some time since I met you, and-”

“Nine months, and six days since we met.” Harry exclaimed happily. 

“Actually,” Evan drawled, “nine months and nineteen days.” When Harry frowned, and began to count off the days on his fingers, Evan chuckled. “I am the butterfly you saved during the thunderstorm, nine months and nineteen days ago. That was when we first met.” Harry’s mouth dropped open. He looked confused and worried and strangely like he was about to cry. “I know you don’t understand, but I will endeavour to explain. I am what is known as a Wizard. Your father was also a Wizard, and he married your mother. Lily Potter was born to parents who cannot do magic, which makes her a Mudblood. She was extraordinarily powerful though,” he said to himself. 

“Wizards? Magic isn’t real.” Harry scoffed. “Uncle said so.”

“Yes, well, the Muggle is a lying sack of Hippogriff shit. Excuse my language.” Harry had only understood half of that sentence, so he just shrugged it off and continued to listen to Evan’s explanation. “You are what is known as a half-blood, or more correctly a first generation Pureblood. If you married another Pureblood, your children would be considered Pureblood as well.”

“I’m not even six yet! I can’t have children!” 

Chuckling, Evan squeezed Harry’s shoulder. “I do not expect you to procreate for some years now. Quite a few years: a hell of a lot of years preferably. Anyway. Magic is very much real, child. I am a Wizard. You are a Wizard too. I can turn into a butterfly at will and I can perform magic.”

“You really are a butterfly?” Harry breathed, not quite daring to hope that Evan (who had yet to lie to him before) was telling the truth. 

In response, Evan slid off of the bed and watched Harry silently for a moment. Then he began to shrink and his skin turned brown, his hair green and his face sprouted brown fuzz. When he was the width of Harry’s palm, green and brown spotted wings sprouted from his back and fluttered lightly as the butterfly flew towards the bed. Evan landed on Harry’s outstretched hand. The child’s mouth was wide open, his eyes blinked closed a few times and his second hand came out slowly, reverently stroking over the butterfly’s wings. 

Evan fluttered away and changed back. He watched the child with a blank face, though he raised one eyebrow in question. “Well?” He asked. 

“Wow!” Harry pushed himself up in the bed, grinning like a lunatic. “If you’re a butterfly, Evan, and you’re bigger than me, but we’re both Wizards, does that mean I’m a caterpillar?” Evan’s other eyebrow rose slightly, but he said nothing. He sat on the edge of Harry’s bed again. “When I grow up, will I be a butterfly like you?”

“Unlikely,” Evan said at last. He frowned though, his eyes raking over Harry’s pale form. “I suppose, though, you are a bit like a caterpillar. Small, and helpless, and trapped.” He reached out to stroke Harry’s scared forehead, eyes narrowing. “All of that power trapped inside of you, just waiting to come out. You could do great things, child, you just need the right training. You could be great. Just like him.” Evan licked his lips, his free hand curling into a fist at his side as he frowned. Before Harry could say anything, the elder Wizard smiled, and dropped both hands. “I suppose, if you are a caterpillar now, I’ll have to help you make a cocoon?”

“And then I’ll be a butterfly?” Harry asked softly, “like you?” 

“One day.” Evan agreed. Though he did not think Harry would actually become a butterfly animagus, he didn’t believe what he was saying in a metaphoric sense. Harry merely needed guidance, and control of his own life, until he sprouted wings of his own and could fly away. Evan smirked to himself. He swore to himself, Harry would do great things, and Evan would be right there beside him. After all, even butterflies needed protection. 

_XXX_

June 29th 1986. The Blue Oyster, Hammersmith. 

It had taken Lucius a month to find any information regarding Horcruxes. He had even contemplated visiting Azkaban to ask his sister-in-law in person, but fortunately for him that particular path was no longer necessary. He had found the information he sought, strangely enough, at a highly exclusive Wizarding restaurant in Hammersmith. The Blue Oyster, while horridly named, did serve the best food in England, and they were very picky about who they let it. That was why Lucius was rather surprised to see Horace Slughorn sitting at a table by himself. His old Potions Professor happened to glance over as the concierge called out the name ‘Malfoy’. 

Draco frowned over at the elder Wizard, before turning to his father. “Why is he coming over here? Who is he?”

“Ah, Professor!” Lucius greeted, holding a gloved hand out to the other man. 

“Don’t be silly, Lucius,” Horace chuckled, pulling out the last remaining chair at the table. “I haven’t been your professor for a long time. Call me Horace, please. And who is this little one?” He asked suddenly, turning away from Lucius. The blond child frowned at him. He want at all pleased with being called ‘little’: he had turned 6 at the start of the month, for Merlin’s sake. “Your son?”

“Yes, Horace this is Draco. You already know my wife of course.”

“Of course. Hello Narcissa, dear.” He took hold of her outstretched hand and lightly kissed the back of it. “And you, young man, don’t you look like your father. You’re going to be very handsome, I’m sure. Why, you’ll be beating them away with a stick!” 

Draco’s nose crinkled as he fought to understand the sentence. “Beating who?” He exclaimed at last, not liking being left out of a joke that made both his parents laugh in public. 

No one answered him though, as the waitress chose that moment to approach the table. Draco didn’t like Horace Slughorn very much. As everyone ordered their food, and Slughorn had his brought over from his old table, Draco chose to glare holes in the older man’s head. He didn’t like it when people interrupted the time Lucius spent privately with his family. With the exception of his godfather. Severus was welcome any time, but not Slughorn. Why was his father even letting the man intrude? Generally, Lucius would give some scathing remark that always sounded so polite and pleasant to ordinary people, but the person being address would always look as if they were about to cry. Draco had every intention of being just like his father when he grew up. 

Horace watched Lucius carefully as they ate. He had kept in touch with Albus Dumbledore, even after his retirement, and he still owed the old Wizard a handful of favours. Dumbledore had heard that Lucius had been making inquiries that he should not have. Dumbledore, and Horace both, were particularly worried about why Lucius wanted information on Horcruxes. Horace had always been fond of the Slytherins in school; he had been their Head of House after all. He had adored Lily Evans too, and she was the reason he was here. Every hint and threat and suggestion Dumbledore had made, none had fazed him, until Lily was brought into the conversation. It was Horace’s conversation with Tom Riddle, about Horcruxes, some time ago, that led to Lily’s death. To some extent, Slughorn had created Voldemort. Just as much as Dumbledore had, and Tom himself had. 

Horace had so much to make up for. 

But the night didn’t quite go to plan. For one, Lucius had always been fond of Horace Slughorn. The man was the reason Severus had pursued a Potions career so reverently, and while Snape didn’t like teaching he did love Potions. Lucius couldn’t remember seeing his friend so happy since Slughorn had offered him an apprenticeship. The old Professor had never given out unnecessary punishments to the Slytherins, and he always made sure to listen to both sides of an argument before taking sides. Many of the other teachers automatically sided against the Slytherins. Lastly, Slughorn had never been much fond of the Marauders, and that made him a decent person in the eyes of anyone outside of Slytherin and Hufflepuff (though no one much cared what the Hufflepuffs thought at any rate). 

It was some hours later, and four bottles of champagne, most of which had been consumed by the eldest at the table, before the topic of interest actually arose. 

“You know,” Horace started off, slurring his words slightly, “it’s not that I don’t like you, Lucius. I’ve always thought you were a decent chap, very bright, brilliant Head Boy. Got all six NEWTs didn’t you? Well done, my boy.” He gave a hiccup. “But there’s a reason I’m here. People have become worried, see, you’ve been looking for things you shouldn’t of.”

“Pray tell, sir.” Lucius asked calmly, taking a sip from his flute. 

“Horcruxes are _dangerous_ , Lucius! I’m warning you not to mess with them. I have your best interests at heart, boy, and I’m telling you they are dangerous.” He hissed angrily, his fist clenching around his own champagne flute. The corners of his eyes were crinkled, his eyes blazed furiously and Lucius understood, completely, that the man was more than worried for him. There was guilt in his expression, as well as fear. Perhaps, Slughorn should have given his Lord this same spiel, though who would dare keep such information from Lord Voldemort? 

“I have absolutely no interest in creating a Horcrux.” He said empathically, meaning it entirely. “Honestly, I don’t even know what one is.” 

“Perhaps,” Horace said, nodding his head in Draco’s direction. 

“Ah, of course. Narcissa, Draco, would you excuse us?” He stood from the table without waiting for an answer from his wife. He turned to Horace and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “This seems to be a conversation best had away from prying ears and eyes.” 

“Yes, yes,” Horace agreed and surged to his feet. He plucked the open bottle of champagne from the bucket of ice on the table, and holding tightly to it, he wobbled after Lucius from the room. Horace swayed slightly as he reached the door, but he steadied himself by taking hold of Lucius’ shoulder. He ignored the sneer the blond sent his way. If he had been sober he would have never dared to touch Lord Malfoy without permission. Most everyone who was worth a grain of salt knew how Lucius felt about being touched familiarly by people with whom he was unfamiliar. 

Lucius kept his silence though. He was relatively certain that this conversation would bare fruits soon enough, so long as he did nothing to frighten Slughorn off. 

“I really have no intention to create a Horcrux.” Lucius said softly, his face expressionless. They were tucked into a niche just before the servant’s entrance into the lobby. The lobby was empty, and most of the staff were busy in the kitchen of the dining lounge, but there was a queue of curious Witches and Wizards outside the front doors that had not been permitted entrance. Lucius kept his face away from them, more out of habit than anything. His hair was noticeable, quite so, and not many people could boast of having hair in the particular shade that was partial to Malfoys. 

“You say you don’t know what one is. But someone else once confided the same to me.” Horace placed a hand over his mouth as he fought back a belch. He shook his head slightly. 

“I have heard _rumours_ that a certain person created such things, and while I normally place little stock in rumours I wanted to be certain that there was a way to destroy these items if they were, as you say, dangerous.”

“Destroy? Oh yes, you must. You will?” Lucius said nothing, he merely inclined his head to one side and let Horace take the gesture which ever way he would. The older man licked his lips, wetting them for they seemed to have dried out all of a sudden. “Horcruxes are, now this goes no further than us do you promise?” He said, interrupting himself. 

“On my honour as a Wizard, sir.” What Lucius of course didn’t mention was that his honour as a Wizard made him obliged to help his Lord in anyway possible. And apparently, helping Evan would possibly be necessary for the return of his Lord to power. Perhaps a Horcrux could be harnessed to restore Lord Voldemort to what he once way? 

“A Horcrux is a word used for an object in which a person has concealed a part of their soul. Well, you split your soul, you see, and hide part of it in an object outside of the body. Then, even if one’s body is attacked or destroyed, one cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged.”1 He cringed as he remembered saying the exact same thing over forty years ago to another Slytherin. Any feelings he was beginning to have of doubt or suspicion or worry, vanished as Lucius leaned forward, staring at him intently. 

“How do you split your soul?”

Horace paused, taken back at the intense look on Lucius’ face. It was not quite as rabid as he remembered Tom Riddle looking, but there was nonetheless a longing in Lucius’ expression that worried the old Professor. “You aren’t going to create one are you, boy?” He asked again, checking. 

“Of course not. The very idea of ripping pieces of my soul away is deplorable to me. Violation of such a sort is not something I would encourage.” Lucius’ upper lip curled, “I imagine it would be similar to portioning off your magic, no?”

Horace doubted that there were similarities between the two concepts, but he agreed because he wasn’t sure whether he could believe Lucius. He may promise not to make a Horcrux, but hadn’t Tom promised the same once? And look how well that promise had turned out. 

“By an act of evil,” he said at last, answering the previous question. “The supreme act of evil. By committing murder. Killing rips the soul apart. The Wizard intent upon creating a Horcrux would use the damage to his advantage: he would encase the torn portion.” He raised his hand to stave off Lucius’ question. He already knew what the blond was going to ask: how? “There is a spell, do not ask me, I don’t know! Do I look like a killer?1”

Horace rubbed at his forehead, his eyes closing as he sighed. His free hand raised the bottle to his lips and he drank deeply, swallowing heavily, as if he were struggling to breath. “This was a mistake,” he whispered to himself, before looking up at Lucius with wide, terrified eyes. He stepped backwards, into the wall, and froze. 

“What was a mistake, Professor?” Lucius asked, keeping his voice soft and respectful. “I have already informed you that I have no wish to create a Horcrux. I merely want to know how to destroy one, and you have yet to answer my question.” He offered the man a winning smile and it seemed to calm Horace somewhat. He relaxed, moved closer to Lucius and lowered the champagne bottle. 

Maybe it was the smile, or maybe it was Lucius so casually dismissing what a Horcrux was in favour of how to ruin one, but Horace was composed again. He had no intention of running away now. Instead he leant closer and whispered, “just as it is made through an evil act and the use of a powerful magic, it must be destroyed through magic equal or more than what created it.”

“Such as?”

“Magic fire, a Dementor, being impaled by a very old, Magical blade; anything that could be considered powerful.”

Lucius made a humming noise. “I will have to see about purchasing one of such items.”

“The Feindfyre spell, Lucius, would suffice. I heard back in the day that you were quite proficient with it.” 

Lucius blushed faintly, remembering back to when he had been a sixth-year student, showing off for the current Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. He had been so eager to please, for the man had been a friend of his father’s, that he had cast the spell too strongly, without knowing how to end it, and nearly burnt away the entire classroom. His father had been partially embarrassed and partially impressed with the blond, but what Lucius remembered most about the event was his Professor’s laughter at his expense. Lucius from then on no longer strived to impress anyone but his Lord. No one else was worthy of him. 

“Yes, I rather was, wasn’t I?” Lucius boasted lightly, allowing a small smile to flicker across his face at the memory. The sound of the Hufflepuff girls in his class screaming had been one of the up-points of the accident. 

“Well,” Horace said pulling a pocket watch out of his robes and glancing at it. “It’s time for me to be leaving. Bid farewell to your wife and son from me, won’t you Lucius?”

“Of course. Have a good evening, sir.”

“Pleasure talking to you,” Horace muttered as he watched Lucius walk away slowly. A part of him knew he would regret the conversation in the morning, when he sobered up and the alcohol stopped affecting his brain. But a larger part of him wanted to be like Dumbledore, and suspect the best of everyone, especially those he once liked. He told himself, as he walked outside to the Apparition area, that not everyone was like Tom Marvolo Riddle. 

_XXX_

July 8th 1986. Little Whinging. 

Evan was sitting in the living room of Number 4, Privet Drive. Harry sat on the floor, leaning back against Evan’s legs. 

The Dursleys had all but avoided Harry like the plague since he had returned from the hospital. They had both expected Vernon to immediately lash out at the child, to strike him, or punish him, and more than likely land Harry back in the hospital. But he hadn’t. He had certainly looked like he wanted to, but he didn’t act on his desire to do the child harm. Evan later found out it was because social service workers would be dropping by ‘randomly’ over the course of the next couple months to check on Harry and Dudley both. 

Apparently, the doctors had been unaware of Harry’s existence before the child had arrived at Surrey General, which was unusual in itself: Harry never having seen a doctor before, despite having many cuts and bruises and old scars, and previously broken bones that showed up on the x-rays that were taken. The fact that the Dursleys had no birth certificate for Harry or a social security number was also not very helpful for them. 

Marjorie Dursley lived some ways away from her brother’s family. The funeral had been held during the first week of June, nearer to Marge’s home, and the Dursley’s had all but moved into the dead woman’s house for the past month. 

Harry was supposed to be living with Mrs Figg. The Dursley’s had cleared that with social services, explaining that Harry was too traumatised by what had happened to go stay in the house of the owner of the dog that had attacked him. Marge probably had more bulldogs at home, anyway, Vernon had insisted, and Mrs Figg loved looking after the boy, apparently. 

Evan had waited until Petunia Dursley had left the house, (for some unexplainable reason, the phone hadn’t been working), to go to visit Magnolia Drive, Evan had waved his wand at her. He had hidden behind the car, well out of the wards reach, and forced a fake imagine into the front of her mind. She walked down the road for twenty minutes in the opposite direction of Magnolia Drive, turned around, and came home again. She told Vernon Mrs Figg had agreed to take him, when in actual fact she had never spoken to Arabella that day. Harry had been sent along alone, and he had done what Evan told him to do: he had hid behind a particularly large bush until the Dursley’s drove out of sight. Evan had collected him ten minutes later and brought him back to Number 4. 

“I like it when it’s just the two of us,” Harry whispered quietly. Evan flicked through the channels on the television. He had magically convinced Vernon not to ring and cancel the electricity or water supply for the duration of their holiday. It was fortunate he had, for he did not think he would like living in a Muggle house without any of the Muggle benefits. There was something to be said for not having to light five hundred candles just so you could see where you were going. 

“As do I.” Evan tapped Harry on the top of the head, and the boy grinned slightly. He took the hint, and looked back at his book. 

Evan had written to Flourish & Blotts, the bookshop in Diagon Alley, and owled the letter away the second day the Dursleys had been absent. He had informed the owners that he wished his son to get a head start, as he had previously been living with his Muggle mother and knew nothing about his rightful world. Mr Flourish had been delighted to help out the ‘Tennyson Alfred’2, who had been so polite and articulate and had even included his vault number and the necessary signed details the shop would need to extract payment from the Goblins. 

Harry had been informed, after the books had arrived, that Mr. Alfred was a pseudonym of Evan’s that he created a long time ago, soon after he first joined what he called ‘the Inner Circle’. The Circle of what, Harry didn’t know, because Evan wouldn’t tell him. Instead he handed the child the book on the top of the pile, entitled ‘ **An Introduction to the Wizarding World: a Guide for Muggleborns** ’, and told him to start reading. Evan would fill in the cultural gaps the book would no doubt have once Harry had a sounder basic understanding of their world. After all, it would do no good to teach the boy to run before he could walk, and consequentially cause him to fall flat on his face, would it? 

“You like the television, don’t you?” Harry asked, looking up. He was almost at the end of the book, having been reading it for a month solid. 

Evan looked down at the boy with a small smirk. “Television has brought back murder into the home, where it belongs,” 3 he said at last. Harry merely stared at him blankly. “It was a joke.”

“I know,” Harry said, frowning, “I was trying to decide why you thought it was funny.” 

Evan merely rolled his eyes, and changed the channel. Wit was lost on the youthful, he told himself mentally. Actually, his wit was lost on pretty much everyone, but Lord Voldemort. Evan sighed. He really missed having company that was equally as sadistic and quirky as himself. 

Harry went back to his reading, and Evan settled into watching one of the many annoying talk shows that were regularly on during the day. An owl flew in through an open window, but Evan didn’t stir, even as Harry jumped about a foot in the air. “Ah, I had wondered if Lucius would ever reply.”

“Lucius?” Harry asked softly. Evan took the letter from the pitch-black eagle owl that waited impatiently, perched on the coffee table. Harry marked his page and closed the book. The owl hopped towards him, hesitating momentarily, before moving to rest on Harry’s outstretched legs. The child reached out to pet the animal, smiling softly as the soft feathers pressed closer to his fingers. If the owl were one of Mrs Figg’s cats, it would probably be purring. 

“An old… associate of mine. I have asked him for some assistance.”

“About me?”

“Yes, child. About you.” He unfolded the letter, breaking open the seal. “Let us see what he has to say about the matter, hmm?” 

“ **Rosier,**

**You imbecilic fool. Have you no idea how fortunate you were not to have had that letter intercepted? You did not even cast one hex on it! Anyone could have read that letter if it were his or her wish. How badly damaged my reputation would have been, then, have you considered? Not to mention the fact that you boldly admitted to living with the Boy-Who-Lived!**

**Are you mentally deficient? Well, yes, I presume you are. But regardless of your less than satisfactory mental functions, you need to think this over, Rosier.**

**While the boy may be a Horcrux (of which I now know most of what there is to know about), it is still a danger to be seen to side with him. On that note, it could be potentially dangerous to blatantly side against the boy as well. He is a hero, for now. But he won’t always be, Rosier. Our Lord will return – or is he no longer your Lord?**

**He will not be happy, Rosier, not at all. My advice to you would be cut your losses. The child will bring you only danger. I will endeavour to help him, because he is a child. But my help extends to the enclosed information and no further.**

**Yours, formally, Lucius A. Malfoy: Lord of the House of Malfoy.** ”

Evan’s hands clutched tightly to the parchment, the knuckles turning chalk white. His face paled in anger, but he remained silent. Harry listened intently, understanding the gist of the letter, and knowing this man thought Evan was making a mistake by being his friend. Harry glared at the owl, though it wasn’t the owl’s fault that its owner was a – bad word. Harry winced, not able to bring himself to curse mentally. Evan didn’t like it when he used ‘adult’ words. 

He was going to be brilliant one day. He was going to do great things, Evan had said so. And when he was great, and brilliant, and powerful, when he finally had his wings, he’d show Malfoy. He narrowed his eyes in thought. Lucius would regret his decision, Harry thought. 

Lucius had enclosed several documents. Harry’s birth certificate was one of them, his parents death certificates were present, as well as a copy of their Will. Evan scanned through it, frowning. Harry was relinquished to the custody of Sirius Black? The Murderer? Evan had heard he had been sent to Azkaban, but he never heard word that the Lord Black had joined his Lord. He had never given it much thought, but he had always considered it to be a mistake or a set up. The man was so obviously light sided. He considered the ramifications for his plan if Harry was to fall into the custody of Sirius Black, and decided, despite the fact that it was a horrible fate to wish on anyone, Black was better off in Azkaban than on the receiving end of Evan’s wand. 

He carefully folded up the documents, frowning when something fell out of the envelope as he picked it up. It was a Gringotts key. He recognized the insignia engraved on the round flat surface at the top of the key as the Potter crest. How Lucius managed to get hold of the Gringotts key Evan didn’t even want to contemplate. There were other things on his mind. 

Evan turned the parchment over, ignoring the Malfoy crest emblazoned on the back of the letter, and grabbed a Muggle pen off of the coffee table. Harry leant into his leg, pressing against his friend, as Evan wrote furiously. He thrust the letter at the owl. The bird turned to look at Harry, who smiled warmly, before reaching out and grabbing the letter with his beak. It flew off without needing to be prompted. 

Evan wished he were there to see Lucius’ face. 

_XXX_

July 8th 1986. Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire.

Lucius frowned as Ares flew in through his study window, a letter in his beak. What more could Evan Rosier possibly have to say to him? He took the letter, petted his owl lightly on the head and shooed the animal over to its perch in the corner of the room. 

He scowled as he read the note.

“ **Is that anyway to talk to an old friend, Lucius? And here I thought your father taught you better than that?**

**But that is beside the point. It is of course my prerogative if I wish to continue to assist Harry Potter, who I admit has rather grown on me. I remember how fond you always were of children, Lucius; surely you remember how I felt about them in return? So obviously there must be something about Harry to have swayed me from my previous opinions. It is unclear to me, how you could be so obtuse as to not have guessed this for yourself, but then again, you know what they always say about blonds.**

**Contrary to the previous, I did not reply merely to insult you, though I admit to enjoying such activities. It is most engaging.**

**You have no idea what it is you are denying, the opportunity you are throwing away. You need to think this over more deeply, my friend. Our Lord is not the most pressing issue at this time, yes he will return, but no, not without Harry’s help. Don’t you want to be the one who helped bring Lord Voldemort back to greatness? The one who swayed his strongest enemy into his most loyal ally? No, it is not my intent to brainwash the child, though I assume you will believe the worst of me regardless of how I protest so I will say no more in my defence. But you understand as well as I do that the moment Harry steps foot in Hogwarts, Albus will brainwash him _against_ us, against our Lord. Is that what you want? I have no doubt, that if it comes down to a battle between the two of them, I have doubts about our Lord’s success. Do not forget, Harry has a part of Lord Voldemort within him: Harry is, where it counts, one and the same with Lord Voldemort. **

**The Muggle family has been absent for some time. I doubt they will return soon. It appears they rather enjoy being out of Harry’s presence, and I admit to enjoying extremely their absence. We will meet you in the Leaky Cauldron at noon, two days hence. If you do not appear, Lucius, I will have to presume that you have decided wrongly, and any action I take from that point on, in protection of my child, and myself, will be nothing overtly personal I assure you.**

**Again, I wish you my sincerest regards. Take them however you will. Evan.** ” 

His face twisted into a scowl as he re-folded the parchment and lay it down on his desk. He helped himself to a glass of brandy, savouring the taste before replacing the glass beside the decanter and sliding back into his chair. 

What to do? He questioned himself. 

He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to at least meet with Evan. Though, no doubt they would be going some place private and Muggle. Harry Potter and the presumed dead Evan Rosier couldn’t very well turn up and start strolling down Diagon Alley without drawing very much unneeded attention to themselves. 

The blond sighed. His head lulled back, resting on the soft leather of the chair, and he folded his hands neatly in his lap. He had a day and a half to think over the matter. He wished very much to ask his friend for advice, but he considered what Rosier was capable, and knew there was no need at this point to involve Severus. He was putting his family at risk already; there was no need to risk more people. Not yet. Not until he needed help. 

He had less than two days to decide whether or not to refuse Evan Rosier something he obviously wanted. He had less than two days to decided whether or not it would be prudent to request assistance. His eyes slipped closed, and before he was aware of it, he found himself falling asleep. He woke the next morning, with a crick in his neck, and a familiar Potions Professor sitting in the chair before his desk. 

Severus Snape raised an eyebrow. 

**XXX**

 

1 – Taken from chapter 23, HBP. Also, Horace Slughorn (in my view) did not hate Lucius Malfoy (or anyone else) until it was proved that he was a Death Eater. Just like with Tom, until Lucius was proven guilty, Horace merely viewed him as a once favoured student, without ill intent.   
2 – Alfred, Lord Tennyson, as he was known: poet, 1809-1892. Tennyson succeeded Wordsworth as Poet Laureate in 1850.  
3 – “Television has brought back murder into the home - where it belongs” – Alfred Hitchcock. 

* * *

A/N: For those of you who were bothered about Lucius’ reaction. Lucius likes children. I said previously that he won’t even kill Muggle children. Why would anyone doubt he would help Harry (especially since in 8 years time Lucius is obviously in a relationship with Harry)?  
For those of you who think Harry will be leaving the Dursleys. You need to read the prologue again. Harry will remain at the Dursleys until he leaves for Hogwarts, however, Evan will be running the show when he finally kills Vernon (when Harry is 8).   
For those of you who asked about Evan performing magic inside of the wards. It will be explained when Evan kills Vernon. But basically, the garden is considered to be ‘outside’, just like the driveway is. Only the actual house is warded.


	7. Chapter 06

**Words:** 3,402  
 **Chapter 6**  
July 10th 1986. The Leaky Cauldron, London. 

The pub was a grimy looking thing from the outside. Muggles walked passed, not noticing the door or the windows or the people staring out at them, but they did see the dirty walls and the chipping paint. They wrinkled their noses and walked on. Harry stopped at the doorway. It looked just as unappealing to him, but Evan had promised it would look nicer on the inside. The outward appearance was only to keep those Muggles who were unaffected by the wards away. (Though, those weren’t actually Muggles, but Squibs whose magical relative had died generations ago). 

Harry was dressed in Muggle clothing, and he had one of his aunt’s hairbands on: the wide ones that wrapped around his whole head and covered his forehead. His scar was hidden, and when he wore the sunglasses Evan found in Vernon’s nightstand, he was suitably disguised. His two more prominent features were out of sight. 

Evan had told him to wait there. And so he would. 

Inside The Leaky Cauldron, people laughed and drank even though it was only five to twelve in the day. Lucius watched them with a sneer, growing more annoyed as a Witch leant over him to reach the bar and giggled in his face. He raised a hand, delicately covering his mouth and nose, and he turned his face away. The girl reeked of booze. Grey eyes narrowed at the clock on the wall. Evan was never late, Lucius knew that. Evan had always been one of the first to arrive at the Death Eater meetings. Undoubtedly Evan was already there, and was merely staying hidden to better enjoy Lucius’ discomfort. 

As if he could read thoughts, Evan materialized beside the blond. Both were dressed in the Wizarding equivalent of a suit, but without the robes. Lucius slid gracefully from the barstool. “Shall we?” He asked, sweeping his arm out in the direction of the door. 

A blond child moved over to them, frowning curiously at the tall dark haired man. “Father?” Draco asked softly.

Evan looked down at him, his mouth twitching into a small smirk. Lucius’ hand dropped to Draco’s shoulder and squeezed. The boy winced as the fingers gripped him tightly, nails digging into the cloth and flesh. “I had presumed you would bring the child with you.”

“The child,” Evan said coolly, “is outside. The child would have been a part of our meeting, regardless of his age. But it matters not. Bring your child.” 

“Father, who is this? Is this who we’re waiting for?” Draco said. He probably thought he was whispering, the way most children do, but Evan could hear every word even over the din in the pub. 

“My name is Tennyson Alfred.” He extended a hand, but before Draco could reach for it Lucius took hold of his son’s wrist and held it tightly. “My son, Caen, is outside. Come.”1 

When Lucius looked him over he frowned, noticing the subtle differences in appearance that anyone who didn’t know Rosier would have missed. The man was wearing a very simple glamour Charm. But those were always the best types. They took less energy to maintain, and they didn’t register by any of the Ministry revealing spells. If Lucius hadn’t of been waiting for Evan, if he hadn’t of known Evan since his own time in Hogwarts, he would have walked right passed the man on the street and never noticed that Tennyson was the infamous ‘dead’ Death Eater. 

Harry was so obviously still Harry Potter. Glasses and a hair tie did nothing to hide his bone structure, or hair colour, or overall appearance. Lucius took one look at him and raised an eyebrow. 

Evan snorted. “That is why he remained outside.” It wasn’t recommended that glamour Charms be used on anyone under the age of twelve. Evan felt that there was no need to risk damaging his child, when it was just as easy to avoid the Wizarding World for a few more years. “Caen, this is Lucius and Draco Malfoy.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” He held his hand out to Draco first, a small smile spreading over his face at the shocked look Lucius gave him. He narrowed his eyes at the elder blond, moving a step back so he was pressing completely against Evan. “Hello.” He nodded his head, but didn’t offer his hand. 

“He is peeved with you, my friend, for not offering me your assistance.” 

“I see.” Lucius drawled, eyes narrowing at the child. He wasn’t particularly annoyed, more intrigued. It was not commonplace that a child would dare to offend Lord Malfoy. But, he supposed, anyone raised by Rosier, would have Rosier’s disastrous manners as well. His eyes lingered on Harry a little too long. Evan noticed, and his forehead creased in thought. 

“This isn’t the place for this. Come.” Evan took Caen by the hand and began to walk back in the direction they had travelled fifteen minutes earlier. Lucius and Draco followed silently. They stopped a long while later at a park. Evan led them further into the area, bypassing the children’s playground and instead continuing through the gardens and finally stopping at a small café, half hidden behind the flower displays. “Go entertain Draco,” he told Harry. Originally, he was going to have Harry join their conversation. But he didn’t think Lucius would appreciate Draco being involved in this matter. “Don’t go to far.”

Harry turned to look at Draco and sighed. He turned back to Evan and raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes,” Evan promised. “I will.” Lucius picked up on the silent ‘tell you later’, but Draco didn’t or he would have demanded the same assurance from his own father. 

“He is beginning to act more like you.”

“How would you know? You did not see how he acted previously.” Evan bit out. 

“I have no doubt that he acted differently to you. But now, he copies you, in his manners, his expression, he tries to walk like you as well I noticed. It is something to be proud of.” Lucius pointed out, taking a seat at one of the quaint tables. 

“Your own child tries to emulate you,” Evan said brazenly, “mine does a better job of it.”

Lucius’ hands clenched into fists beneath the table, out of Evan’s view, but there was no other sign that the words had bothered the blond. Evan smirked anyway. “We should begin, no? I see no reason to waste time. And time is money, after all.”

Evan chuckled, “Few things are harder to put up with than the annoyance of a good example, but you are right. This time.”3 He said nothing further. Lucius looked at him with a frown, one eyebrow climbing on his forehead. “Well, explain yourself, Malfoy. What did you dream about last night? Good things, I hope!” Rosier said at last. 

“If you are not going to take this seriously, Rosier, then there is no need to continue further. Excuse me.” He moved to stand. In a second, Evan was standing behind him, Evan; own chair had overturned onto the ground, and the man was holding the armrests of Lucius’ seat tightly. 

“Sit. Down.” He said slowly, his voice low. 

People began to look over, frowning and whispering, and Lucius obediently slid back into his chair. He gritted his jaw and watched the brunette man moved to righten his seat and sit down again. 

“You think I do not take this seriously? You think I find the idea of my child’s death funny?” Lucius swallowed, but kept his tongue. “Those Muggles are going to kill him. I think they only reason they haven’t so far is because they are afraid of him, of our kind. But _no one is watching them_ , no one, and when they realize that, there will be only me between them and Harry. I cannot take action against them unless I know what will result. Lucius, please! I do not beg, I have said so before. I can and will find out for myself what I need to know, but I believe it would be faster to have your assistance.”

“Evan…” Said man raised his hand, and Lucius stopped speaking. 

“If they don’t kill him, if Harry lasts long enough to get to Hogwarts, he will still have to return every summer. Dumbledore did not let our Lord stay at Hogwarts during the break, and he will not let Harry either. When our Lord returns, I will return to him, Malfoy. But not if I have to leave Harry behind.” 

Lucius’ mouth dropped open. “You say as much, to my face? Me, our Lord’s right hand? You traitor!” The blond hissed, his eyes narrowed. 

“I am not betraying anyone, Malfoy. It is funny. If it were you protecting your son, it would be excusable. You would be protecting your bloodline. But if I attempt to defend my child, I become a traitor. Is it only because he is not of my blood, so by protecting him I am not protecting my line, like you? Or are you just a hypocrite?” 

Evan waited for Lucius to say something else, but there was only silence. “I care about our Lord, in ways different to you or the others. I have known him for longer than you have. He has a handful of followers from his own school days, and then he has their children, your generation, and he will have your children someday. And then there is me. I am not like the rest of you. I do not fear him. And any punishment I receive, I know is warranted. I revel in it; enjoy it, because I know that it won’t happen often. I am loyal. Do not doubt that. I would die to serve him. But even Voldemort understand, I protect what is mine.”

“You were,” Lucius paused, unsure whether or not to continue.

“Intimate with him? No. Man delights not me- nor woman neither.”4 He snorted, slightly amused. “What I feel for our Lord is hard to define. I do not lust for him, nor fear him, but at times he angers me, I am fond of him, and when he was defeated I did not grieve for him but I did worry about him. He is, I believe, the closest thing to a friend I have ever had. I do not trust him, because I understand what he is capable of, but I trust that he will do nothing to purposely injure me. It is complex, Lucius.”

“And you feel that helping Potter is not a betrayal?” 

“Harry is… mine. At first, I considered him a means to an end. I was able to hide within his home, receive sustenance, warmth: every bodily need for free and without danger. But he grew on me. He saved me, during a lightening storm. The Muggles had him locked outside. But he saved me, and kept me dry and then let me free the next morning. He is very intelligent, and endearing, and kind. But there is a part of him, buried deep down, except for when he is angry or terrified, and it is so dark. It calls to me.”

“How so?” Against his better judgement, Lucius was becoming enthralled. He had only wanted to hear Evan out, decide against helping and leave, hopefully without being retaliated against. But now, he longed to hear more. 

“When our Dark Mark calls, we answer. It calls to us, reaches inside to the depths of our very being and tugs until we answer. It feels like that. It is the Horcrux, the part of Voldemort’s soul within Harry that calls to my own magic. And my magic demands I answer. His aura is indescribable.” Evan smiled slowly. “It fascinates me, and I longed to know more. Sometime between his being a means to an end, and being an experiment, I began to see him as a child. My child.”

“I see.” Lucius took a sip of water. Sometime since they arrived a waitress had carried over a jug and two glasses and neither of them had noticed her. “Severus came by just after I received your letter.”

“What did you tell him?” Evan’s tone was clipped, all of his muscles tensed. Lucius might trust Snape, but Evan didn’t. If anyone was a traitor it was the Potions Master. 

“What makes you think I told him anything?” Lucius asked, curiously. Evan’s face remained expressionless. “I trust Severus. He is my friend. He is loyal, just as we are.”

“Yes, but is he loyal to the same person?” Evan said with a sneer. 

“Of course he is! He believes in our Lord!”

“He loves Lily Evans, whom our Lord murdered. Snape _begged_ for her life.” 

“He explained all of that to me. He said that he forgave our Lord but he thought it was best to cultivate friendships with the opposing side, he thought it might be helpful when our Lord remerged to have an inside person.”

“So he told you. And you believed him.” Evan laughed; a cold and high sound, and Lucius cringed because it sounded more like Lord Voldemort’s laugh, than Evan’s own. “Never before have I encountered so un-Slytherin like behaviour. The trust, the naivety,” he spat, “disgusts me.”

“He is NOT a traitor!” Lucius snarled, his lips curling in anger. 

“To his own ideals, no he is not.” Evan agreed, cupping his hands around his glass. He raised his eyes at the sound of a gasp. Draco’s grey eyes were wide as he watched his father, worry on his face. Harry stood beside him, his arm was out of his cast and Draco’s training wand was dangling from his fingers. “The boys are back. Time to leave.”

“We are not finished,” Lucius managed to get out through gritted teeth. 

“We most certainly are not.” Evan agreed as he stood up. He stopped beside Harry and plucked the wand from his hand. He flicked his wrist, tossing the wand away, and Draco reached out, fingers scrambling at the air, to catch it. The child cradled the wand, eyes still wide, before running to his father’s side. “Why did you take off your cast?” 

“It was itchy. And Draco wanted to practise the Vanishing spell.” Evan raised an eyebrow as he looked his child over. Harry was missing his cast, three buttons from his shirt, and a shoe. 

“Did it work?”

“Not at first,” Harry confided. “My shoe caught fire the first time we tried.” 

Evan handed his wand over, looking back to make sure Lucius was still watching them. “The incantation is ‘Evanesco’, give it a try.” 

Harry pointed the wand at the nearest plant, and whispered the spell. He cringed, half expecting the bush to catch fire but instead it vanished, right in front of his eyes. It had worked. On his first try. With someone else’s wand. It was almost unheard of!

While Harry grinned happily to himself, Evan turned around fully and met Lucius’ stunned grey eyes. His lips curled upwards, stretching his mouth across his face in a horridly smug grin. He winked, allowing a chuckle to escape his throat as Lucius’ fingers clenched and his eyes narrowed in anger. He took his wand back and un-Vanished Harry’s shoe, buttons and cast.

“Ah!” The child said softly, glancing down sadly at the uncomfortable plaster-of-paris wrapped around his forearm. “Do I have to?”

Evan said nothing. Harry took the silence as a ‘yes’, and sulked for most of the way home. Much to Evan’s amusement. 

When they arrived back at Privet Drive, an owl was waiting for them on the front porch. The Dursleys had not come back yet, and Evan was holding out hope that they had died in a road accident somewhere off of the map where no one would ever find their bodies. 

“Did you get on well with Draco?”

“I suppose,” Harry said with a shrug as Evan opened the front door. The child took the letter from the owl, since it was address to him, and they went inside. “I don’t really like people my age though. They make me nervous.”

“I know. But it’s good practise for when you go to Hogwarts. Just order him around a bit, don’t let him intimidate you, you know, act like me.” 

“Act like you? Do you want me to terrify the boy?” Evan cuffed him across the back of the head, letting out a small chuckle as Harry gave a giggle. “Ok, ok, sorry,” he said, trying to avoid a second swat. “Hey, stop abusing me so I can open my letter.”

“Very well.” Evan took a step backwards, holding his hands out in front of him as an invitation for Harry to go first. The boy flopped down onto the sofa. Evan sat beside him, and pulled Harry’s head into his lap. 

Evan read the letter out loud. 

**“Caen,**

**My son thanks you for allowing him the practise he desires. I was impressed by your display. Previously, I had decided not to assist you or Rosier, but I have since changed my mind. I may yet live to regret it.**

**With what I know of Horcruxes in mind, I took the liberty of ordering you a training wand, made of Yew. That is what our Lord’s wand is made from. I have no doubt that it will be a good match for you. It will arrive within the week.**

**Accept the wand in lieu of our rather unproductive meeting. In return for your forgiveness, accept my help. When ever you need it.**

**Your friend, Lucius.”**

“You seem to have won him over, though I couldn’t.” Evan mused, a slow smirk on his lips as he started down at his child. 

“Says something about your personality, don’t you think?”

Evan snorted. “Personally, I think it says something about Lucius’ personality.” He bared his teeth, his grin stretching as he thought of things that Harry was too young to hear. “I would never have guessed.” 

He didn’t worry, he knew Lucius was too uptight to actually act on any desires he may posses. It would, nonetheless, be useful to use Harry to further any exchanges between Lucius and Evan. Apparently, Evan wasn’t the only one with interest in the child.5 

“Write him back and thank him.” Evan instructed. 

Harry slid from the sofa. He knelt in front of the coffee table, and grabbed the pen that was always there. He scrawled out ‘thank you’ onto the back of the page and held it up for Evan’s inspection. 

The man chuckled. “You did not need to take me so literally child. But send it on regardless.” The owl was still waiting on the porch when Harry opened the door, so he handed the letter over and after a quick pet, the bird was on its way home. 

“Evan, you know I don’t mind it when you hit me, right?” Evan’s head snapped up, eyes narrowed. “Like you were earlier. When we were just messing around. I don’t mind. It feels comfortable, and I wanted you to know that I didn’t mind.” 

Evan stood, both hands falling onto Harry’s shoulders. They squeezed lightly and tugged the child forward. Harry looked up at him with a wide smile. 

“You know I would never hurt you? That I would not abuse you or harm you. I am sorry that I allow the Dursleys to torment you, but there is nothing I can do about them. Not yet. That is why I need Lucius’ help.”

“I know,” the boy said after a few minutes of silence passed between them. Their eyes locked, and Evan allowed a small smile to settle on his face. It was matched by Harry’s grin. 

They stayed like that for a while, holding onto each other and staying happy and silent. The moment was broken, unexpectedly, by the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. A door slammed, followed by an obnoxiously loud exclamation of “home sweet home, eh pet?”

The two Wizards drew back. Evan was tense and Harry’s hands were trembling lightly. They looked at each other, and in the blink of an eye, Harry was alone. The butterfly fluttered to the ceiling and attached itself to the light, watching as his caterpillar slowly opened the front door. 

The Dursleys were home. 

**XXX**


	8. Chapter 07

**Words:** 2,668  
 **Chapter 7**  
July 31st 1986. Little Whinging. 

Harry hated it when the post came. He knew he never received any letters, but a part of him always waited desperately, hunched over in his cupboard under the stairs, hoping that someone – anyone except Evan – cared that he was alive. If he was a Wizard, then shouldn’t someone want to write to him? He scrunched his eyes closed and sighed. No. No one ever wrote to him. But it was near impossible for him to stop hoping. He didn’t need stupid letters anyway. He had Evan. 

Uncle Vernon came stomping down the stairs, and Harry trembled as the floor above his head began to shake. He muttered to himself, praying, begging the ceiling not to cave in on top of him. With a relieved smile, he opened his eyes. He was still alive and in one piece. 

The front door slammed closed, and the cupboard door was wrenched open. Vernon reached inside and grabbed hold of Harry’s shirt. The boy was six-years-old that day, and instead of celebrating, he had been let outside to weed the entire garden and then shoved back into the cupboard without anything to eat or drink. The Dursleys hadn’t been very happy with him since Aunt Marge died. Harry didn’t know why Ripper attacked her, but his uncle seemed convinced that it was Harry’s fault. Harry personally thought it was Marge’s fault. After all, it was Marge’s dog that killed her. Saying as much, though, wasn’t a good idea: it had earned Harry three painful punches to the face. 

The Muggle’s face was a dark purple colour. Harry winced. He knew his uncle was very angry when he stopped breathing long enough for his face to turn purple. 

A letter was shoved under Harry’s nose. Against his will, a smile crossed his face and green eyes lit up with pleasure. “It’s for me?” He breathed. “Really?”

Vernon pushed the boy away, sneering. He ripped open the bright red envelope, and hurriedly pulled out the card. Without reading the front cover, he opened the card and clenched his hand around the empty envelope. 

“Dear Mister Potter,” he read, his voice low and strained. “I heard it was your birthday. I’m sorry that you were too sick to attend the last two weeks of school, but I hope you’ve recovered by now at least? Have a great birthday. I’ll see you when school starts in September. Mr. Adam Grange.” Vernon swallowed heavily. “Who is _this_?” The man snarled at last. 

“My m-maths teacher. He’s my t-teacher.” The bruises on Harry’s face stood out even more as he lost all colour he had. Trembling, and pale, Harry took a step backwards. “I didn’t tell him anything. I didn’t. I promise, uncle.” 

Vernon mumbled something that Harry couldn’t hear. His hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides, and Harry watched with regret as his card was crushed into a ball. He bit his lip though. Asking for the damaged card back really wouldn’t be worth the punishment he’d receive. 

“Go light the fire, boy.”

“The f-f-fire?” Harry stuttered. It was the end of July, and it was shaping up to be the warmest summer that Harry could ever remember experiencing. Why would his uncle want the fire lit? 

“Yes the fire,” his uncle spat, “do as you’re told, boy!” Vernon raised his hand, intending to strike Harry across the face. Harry ducked down, scuttling past his uncle with his head tucked as close to his chest as possible. He hurried to do as he was told, grabbing the coal bucket from the storeroom in the kitchen and dragging it back into the living room. He left the room to grab some wood from outside, and brought that into the living room as well. 

Harry set to work. He removed the fire grate, and lay two sticks of wood down before throwing a match in on top of them. When they had caught fire, he added a few lumps of coal and some more wood and watched it burn for a moment. He took hold of the fire poker, slowly removing it from its place hanging on the mantel, and prodded at the wood. The fire suddenly blazed brighter. 

Vernon snatched the poker out of Harry’s hand. “Move, boy.” He ordered. 

Harry shifted to the side, out of Vernon’s reach. He bit his tongue, the sudden pain taking up all of his focus and stopping him from crying out, “no!” as Vernon threw his first ever birthday card into the fire. Harry might have remained silent, but he couldn’t quite stop himself from reaching out a hand, hoping desperately to save the card. He watched it shrivel as the flames licked at its edges, and sniffled. 

“You want it back, boy? Take it then.” Harry hesitated. “Hurry up!” Vernon barked. Harry leant forward, falling to his knees, and carefully reaching into the fire. He tried to find a place to grab the card, a part of it that wasn’t blisteringly hot, and his carefulness cost him. In the time that Harry spent inspecting the card, rather than just grabbing hold of it, Vernon slammed the poker onto the back of his hand. 

Harry cried out, falling forward instinctively to curl around his sore hand. Vernon smacked him on the back with the poker, and Harry gave another cry. 

“You stupid, worthless freak. You don’t deserve that card, not from a normal person.” Vernon snarled. He grabbed hold of Harry’s neck and pushed the boy forward, into the fireplace. Harry’s hands came out, trying to stop himself from falling into the fire, and he gave a horrible scream as his hands pressed down onto the wood and coal and flames. Vernon smirked down on him, but eventually pulled him back by the scruff of his neck. “Get into your cupboard, freak.” 

Harry shakily climbed to his feet. Both of his hands were held against his chest protectively, the palms blistered and the skin of his fingers turning black. He gave a whimper as he walked, each movement jarring his arms. 

“Happy birthday,” Vernon called after him, replacing the grate in front of the fire. 

_XXX_

That night, once the Dursleys were asleep, Evan quietly opened the padlock on the cupboard under the stairs. Harry was wide-awake, the pain in his hands not allowing him to sleep. His aunt Petunia had come to him just before she went to bed, harshly wrapping some gaze around his fingers and hands, but not applying any sort of antiseptic cream. It didn’t matter to her that Harry might get an infection and lose the use of both hands, just as long as the neighbours didn’t see the burns. 

Green eyes looked up at him, fluttering lightly as they got used to the sudden light. “Evan?” He asked softly. 

“Come outside with me, Caen.” He held a hand out, and while Harry didn’t take it, he made no objection to Evan resting the hand on his elbow. The elder Wizard guided the child outside into the garden. “The wards are not active here. Only within the house proper.” The Death Eater said. “Give me your hands.” 

Harry held them out. A soft smile flitted across his face as Evan waved his wand and whispered a healing charm. He could almost envision the skin and muscle fixing itself, changing colour and growing fresh and healthy over the bone. He rubbed his nose with one knuckle and winced. His hands still hurt, not as agonizing as when it happened, and later as the shock wore off, but there was still a dull throb, that flared brighter and more painful when his hand touched any other part of his body. 

“Here,” Evan said, handing him two paracetamol, “I swiped them from the medicine cupboard upstairs.” He conjured a teacup filled with water and handed it over. Harry gratefully swallowed the painkillers and washed them down before handing the cup back to Evan. “Vanish it,” the man said, not reaching out for the cup. Instead, he handed over the Yew training wand that Lucius had sent him. It had arrived in the post two nights ago, a fortnight after Lucius had written to Harry about its purchase. 

The boy took hold of the wooden handle. This would be his first time using it. 

“ _Evanesco_ ,” Harry said clearly. Harry gave a smile as the cup disappeared without a sound. The wand worked for him, better than using Evan’s wand did. 

“Good.” Evan said. “Name a spell from one of your books?” 

Harry had just started reading ‘ **An Introduction to Charms** ’, having finally finished ‘ **An Introduction to the Wizarding World: a Guide for Muggleborns** ’. The latter book seemed to go on forever, and yet Harry knew there was so much more he needed to learn about the world to which he belonged. 

He cleared his throat and raised his wand. His eyes narrowed as he focused, trying to concentrate. “ _Wingardium Leviosa_ ,” he said, being especially careful to pronounce it ‘Levi-Oh-Sa’. At Harry’s feet, several pebbles began to wobble, shaking and spinning around, but only one of them rose up into the air. It moved up, closer and closer to Harry’s wand, at a steady pace until at last it was hovering right in front of the boy’s face. 

“ _Accio_ pebble,” Evan said with a wave of his wand. 

“The Summoning Charm.” Harry told him, without waiting to be asked. “May I try?” He waited for Evan to nod, and once the man had, Harry waved his wand in an imitation of how he had seen Evan do it a moment ago. “ _Accio_ pebble,” he whispered, and he waited. The pebble, which lay in the palm of Evan’s hand, wobbled. It jumped a few centimeters, but then fell to the ground and stayed there, unresponsive. 

“That wasn’t too bad for your first try.” Evan told him, moving to stand closer to the child. He patted Harry’s hand consolingly. “At least you got the stone to move around. Perhaps you could skip a few chapters, start work on the Healing Charms? They might come in useful.” He cast a look at Harry’s hands and the blood stained bandages. “Muggles,” the man spat, as if it was the worst curse word imaginable. 

Harry gave him a slight smirk. “Muggles,” he said in agreement. “Especially those ones,” he said, pointing at the backdoor of Number 4. 

_XXX_

September 1st 1986. Little Whinging Primary School. 

Harry stood at the front gate, deliberating with himself. Should he go inside, or should he hide out here and hope that no one told the Dursleys that he was absent? Would anyone even care enough to tell the Dursleys? Mr. Grange might, but then again Harry hadn’t replied to the birthday card, so his math teacher might think he was rather rude and ungrateful. So he probably wouldn’t care much now. 

Would Harry even have the same maths teacher as last year, this year, anyway? He wasn’t sure. Petunia and Dudley had gone into the school last week for a meeting between the teachers, and Harry was supposed to go, but both adult Dursleys refused to go with him. Harry had walked to the school alone, but the teachers had refused to speak with him without an adult present. So he had just gone back to Privet Drive. 

All of the other children had disappeared from sight. A bell rang through the playground, and with a deep breath, Harry stepped off of the pavement and onto the asphalt that surrounded the school building on all sides. The gate seemed to rise up behind him the closer he got to the front doors of the school, trapping him inside. He didn’t want to be there, but Evan had insisted his education was important. Evan wanted him to go to school. Honestly, Harry wanted to go to school as well. He rather liked learning, he found it interesting and exciting, he loved learning new things. But he hated going to school with Dudley. 

Harry ran inside, making it to the classroom door before the second bell. He had followed a few children that he recognized from the year before. Dudley stood in the doorway though, holding the door open for the teacher that was making her way down the corridor towards them. Harry tried to enter the room, but Dudley pushed him back. 

“Get out of the way, freak,” he said. “Here you go, Miss Murphy.” A wide smile was fixed on Dudley’s podgy face. 

She thanked him as she entered the room, but didn’t bother to check whether or not any more students followed her inside. Dudley let another boy into the room, but slammed the door in Harry’s face. Harry groaned, hearing the crunch of metal as the bridge of his glasses snapped when the door smacked him. His nose hurt, and a little blood trickled down onto his lips, but he ignored that. He pulled his glasses off of his face and frowned down at them. He couldn’t see without them, and they were broken into two parts now. How was he supposed to get through the first day back at school if he couldn’t see anything? 

He knocked on the door, but no one answered. Harry waited for a few minutes, squinting through the A4 sized window in the door, but he couldn’t make anyone out clearly enough to tell what they were doing. He saw someone laughing in his direction, but he couldn’t be sure if it was Dudley, because a lot of the boys in his class were laughing at him. 

The door swung open. “Mr. Potter, if you cannot be bothered to come to class on time, do not come at all. Go sit in the Headmaster’s office. Go, now, boy.” Miss Murphy said sternly, her hands on her hips. The Dursleys had warned her about this child a week ago. “And do something about those glasses for goodness sake!”

She shut the door again. 

Harry sighed as he made his way towards the Headmaster’s office, feeling along the walls so that he didn’t bump into anyone going around corners. He hoped they had some sellotape or glue in the office. Maybe if he asked really nicely, Principal Harver’s secretary might help him fix his glasses. 

“You!” Harver said, pointing a finger at Harry as the secretary let him into the office. “Already? Unbelievable,” he said, shaking his head. He was already reaching out for the phone, calling to let the Dursleys know that Harry Potter had done something ‘freakish’, or ‘weird’, or ‘naughty’ again. 

Harry’s eyes slid closed: he could already hear the conversation, before either party even begun to speak. He was well used to getting phone calls home; Dudley blamed him for everything. Harry had memorized the monologue. Fortunately, Social Services had picked up their visitation – apparently it was something they did every year. The visits continued during the school year, but became practically non-existent during the summer holidays. The Dursleys seemed to have known this. Vernon hadn’t hit Harry as much lately, afraid, maybe, of bruising the boy before school started up. With a visitation scheduled for the week after next, Harry was hopeful that his uncle wouldn’t punish him too badly. 

The office door opened again, and Dudley stumbled into the room. He was red eyed and wet cheeked and there was a malicious grin on his face. “Sir, Mr. Harver, Sir, is that my mum?” The Principal nodded. “Harry slammed a door in my face, mummy!” He whined loudly enough for Petunia to hear over the phone. The sudden screeching was loud enough for Mr. Harver to need to hold the phone well away from his ear. 

Harry cringed in his seat. Dudley reached over, waiting until the Principal was occupied with Petunia’s phone call, and punched Harry on the shoulder. “Freak,” he spat. 

Harry slumped back in his chair, eyes squeezed closed. He really hated going to school with Dudley. 

**XXX**

 

TBC thanks to those that commented and left kudos' :)


	9. Chapter 08

Warnings for this chapter! See first chapter :) 

**Words:** 5,618  
 **Chapter 8**  
June 5th 1987. Malfoy Manor.

Harry half couldn’t believe his eyes. Everywhere he looked, something magical was looking back at him. The Manor was huge, and beautiful, but not very welcoming. Harry overlooked that though, because it was magical. In his eyes, there was nothing wrong with Malfoy Manor if it was surrounded by magic. From the corner of his eyes he caught sight of a Venus Fly Trap, except this one was twice the height of Evan and was desperately trying to eat the short, wrinkly creature that was weeding the ground at its base. And over there were three peacocks, their coats pure white and one of them had its tale fluffed out, spread wide and white and dazzling. Harry watched it all through wide eyes as Evan led him up the gravel driveway. 

They stopped at the entrance, and Harry looked at the door that rose up and up and the stone that seemed to arch around them, enclosing them. Evan’s hand was warm and heavy on his shoulder and Harry straightened his spine when Evan squeezed. The front door slip open, and two more of those strange creatures peered out at him. 

In all of Harry’s reading, he had never come across anything that looked like them. But then again, Harry hadn’t really gotten around to learning about the magical creatures of the Wizarding World. It was an elective not available till Third Year. He had plenty of time for Magical Creatures. All of the important subjects would be starting in First Year; those were the things that Harry wanted to read about and practise and learn. Evan had assured him over and over that First Year was little more than a waste of time. The year was designed, essentially, to cater to the Muggleborns. Any young Witch or Wizard worth a grain of salt knew most of what was taught already. 

In the Muggle world, they had primary schools that taught children the basics needed to advance to secondary schools. In the Wizarding world, parents taught their children what they needed to know, or hired tutors to teach their children. But either way, children had sound basic knowledge of magic before they ever set foot into a magic school. Except for the Mudbloods, and some of the Half-Bloods. 

Harry was determined not to be one of those types. 

He wanted to learn everything he possibly could. He wanted to be brilliant, like Evan told him he would be. “What are those?” He whispered to Evan.

“House Elves.” The elder Wizard told him in an equally quiet voice. The dark haired man nodded at one of the Elves as he led his son into the Manor. “When you arrive home, I expect you to have found out what a House Elf is, do you understand?”

Harry smiled softly, tilting his head up to catch Evan’s expression. “I understand,” he paused, “that you don’t know, and so you cannot tell me.”

The Death Eater snorted, “think of it as another assignment. You’ll have plenty of those to do once you start Hogwarts.” Harry’s first assignment from Evan was to master one of the Unforgivables. Realistically, it would be impossible for a child, but Evan had always enjoyed setting the bar high. Understandably, Harry had failed to cast any of the three forbidden spells – he hadn’t even managed to make his wand shoot off sparks. But Evan wasn’t disappointed. At least Harry had trusted him enough to try the spells. 

“This way, Mr. Alfred, Sir.” On of the Elves said, bowing low as Evan walked passed him. 

“Be aware,” he told Harry in a soft voice, “that many of Lucius’ associates are followers of my Lord. It would serve you well not to say anything derogatory about the Dark Lord.” Harry nodded his head, but didn’t answer. 

The Elves pushed open a second set of doors, and waved them both forward, up a flight of stairs. At the top of the stairs, one more Elf waited. She pushed the door open and cleared her throat. “Mr. Tennyson Alfred.” She announced, “and his son, Caen. Please enter the Ballroom, deposit presents on that table, and enjoy your stay at Malfoy Manor,” she added in a quieter voice. 

Harry looked in the direction the she-Elf had pointed and tried not to gape. It was Draco’s 7th birthday party, and the table was filled with presents on top of presents. If not for magic, Harry thought the table might have collapsed under the weight. The small, brightly coloured box he held in his hands looked so insignificant compared to all of the other gifts Draco had already received. Larger gifts, moving gifts, floating gifts, better wrapped gifts: Harry’s gift was unimpressive. It was a book, a Muggle one at that, about a man who could read stories to life, who could literally make the characters come out of the books, but had to sacrifice one of the people around him to enter the book in return.1 Harry had read it in the library at school and had loved it, and he had wanted to share the story with Draco. 

He and Draco weren’t very good friends, but Draco was the only friend Harry had. Evan assured him that they would grow closer the more time they spent together, and when Harry had asked what would happen if he and Draco ended up in different Houses at Hogwarts, Evan had assured him that friends were a weakness Harry probably couldn’t afford to have. To say Harry had been confused would have been an understatement, but he had brushed it off as one of those strange things that you only understood ‘when you’re older’. 

“Caen!” Draco called out. The elder blond boy made his way to Harry’s side, instantly reaching out for the box in Harry’s hands. “Is this for me? What is it?” 

“Wait until later, Draco, and you can open it and find out,” Lucius chided, as he magically appeared at Draco’s side. His eyes were fixed on Harry’s face even as he spoke to his son. “It was a pleasant surprise when you wrote of your intention to attend today. You will be staying the night, yes?” Lucius questioned, holding a hand out. Harry took it, and Lucius brought it to his mouth for a quick kiss. Harry gave a nod. “Good. I’ll have to make sure I give you a tour before you leave.”

“They’ve gone away for the weekend,” Evan told him, not needing to explain who _they_ were. “Caen won’t be expected back until tomorrow morning. A neighbour is supposed to be minding him, until they come back.” 

“And yourself?” Lucius asked tensely. He might have gotten used to writing to Evan, and spending time discussing Harry with Evan, but he still hated the idea of Rosier in his house while his son was there. 

“I wouldn’t leave my child alone. I will be here.” 

“If you insist.” Lucius said stiffly. He took the gift from Harry and placed handed it to the Elf that was by his side. The House Elf put the book on the table with the other presents and disappeared from sight. “The adults are remaining here. Draco will stay, until the last guest has arrived, and then he will be joining the other children in the Ruby Lounge. They may do as they wish to entertain themselves, but any doors that are locked are to remain locked, ok Caen?”

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Call me Lucius, please?” He asked with a smile. Evan resisted the urge to chuckle, instead, he allowed Lucius to guide Harry in the direction of the doorway, while he hung back. “You will spend the night. There are plenty of rooms to spare after all. And in the morning you and your father will return home.”

“How?” Harry asked. 

“How did you arrive?”

“By the Knight Bus.” The child turned his head to look back into the room. Evan was standing where they had left him, watching with a smirk on his face and narrowed eyes. Draco had gone away, and Harry could see him speaking with another adult in the corner of the room. 

“I suppose you could summon the Bus again, or use the floo. Though, I suppose your Muggles are not connected to the floo network?”

“No.” Harry gave a scowl. The Muggles were not his: he wanted nothing to do with them. 

“Pity.” Lucius stopped outside of a room and pushed open the cherry wood door. The room was done in shades of red and brown, and overall it looked very Autumn-y. Harry smiled softly as he walked inside. “This is Caen Alfred, the son of a friend of mine. Introduce yourselves at your convenience,” he told the other children. Lucius pressed another kiss to Harry’s hand, before he left the room. Leaving Harry alone with nine other children. 

An hour later, Draco finally joined them. “Let’s play hide and seek.” He suggested, “I’ll count first. But remember, no hiding behind locked doors. Father says you should stay away from those rooms.” Some of the children were Hogwarts age, and knew how to cast _Alohamora_ correctly. Purposely cancelling a locking spell would mean you forfeit the game, and would face the wrath of Lucius Malfoy. 

The children ran from the room as Draco started to count. Harry walked slowly, casually, with his head held high. Evan said he was never to run, unless it was for his life. At any other time, he was to move with decorum and grace. The Dark Lord would accept no less from an equal. The idea of being on par with _the_ Dark Lord of the century brought a smile to Harry’s face. 

He noticed how some of the children kept bypassing one particular door, and while his instincts told him that it was probably locked, he could resist trying the handle. There was something inside the room, calling to him, and Harry needed to know what it was. Harry’s fingers closed around the doorknob, and a strange tingling spread through his hand for a moment before it disappeared. The door swung inwards with ease. It hadn’t been locked after all, Harry thought, entering the room slowly. 

There wasn’t much out of the ordinary in there. It appeared to be a study, with a large oak desk and stacks and stacks of books. They caught Harry’s interest, but before he could go towards the first row of shelves, something else caught his eye. A black book lay open on the desk, its pages blank and slightly yellowed with age. This was what he had come looking for. This was what had been calling to him. 

He picked the book up and closed it, turning it over in his hands. On the front, was ‘T.M.R.’, engraved in gold. Harry frowned, something about the letters triggered a memory, but he wasn’t sure what of. Did he know someone with those initials? He went to open the book again, flicking through the pages, his mind wild with curiosity, and then a hand fell onto his shoulder. With a startled gasp, Harry spun around, dropping the book onto the floor. 

Lucius was standing behind him, his face a blank mask. Evan stood in the threshold, leaning against the doorframe. “Did you open the door, Caen?” Rosier asked. 

“The door wasn’t locked, I swear. It opened the second I touched it.” Harry protested as he bent down to retrieve the book. Lucius took it from him and placed it in the top draw of his desk, murmuring a locking spell. 

“You broke through a locking spell and my wards when you entered the room.” Lucius told him. He took a seat, turning the desk chair around so he was facing Harry. Evan moved behind his child and frowned at the blond. “Though, if Evan is correct – no, I know Evan is correct, so maybe that explains it. If he is a part of you, and he is keyed to my wards, perhaps that is why the door did not wish to remain locked as you sought to enter?”

“Huh?” Harry asked ineloquently. 

Evan crossed the room again, shutting and locking the door. He came back over to Harry and grabbed him by both shoulders. “I think it is time I taught you about Horcruxes.” The elder brunette said. 

“He knows of our Lord?” Lucius asked, hesitantly. He was unsure about how much information Evan had disclosed to the child. Draco knew the basics, of course, but just because Lucius believed their Lord would return did not mean he believed Draco shouldn’t have a worry free childhood. “How much?”

“Lord Voldemort,” Harry said slowly, “graduated Hogwarts in the late 1940s. Disappeared for a decade or so around the early 1950s, and rose to power in the 1970s. He tried to kill me in 1981 but was somehow defeated, though Evan insists he will return. I plan to help, but I don’t know how yet. Voldemort had followers, named the Death Eaters, who would do their Lord’s bidding for them. Striking terror, kidnapping, murdering. They wore black robes and white masks. Why did they wear masks?” Harry asked suddenly. “Everyone here is a Death Eater, and you obviously all know each other, so why hide your identity? I mean, not just on raids, but Evan said you wore masks to Voldemort’s meetings as well.”

“Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.”2 Evan gave a slow smirk as Harry tried to puzzle it out. 

“So,” Harry said, a smirk of his own on his face. “When you weren’t wearing a mask, you all were _lying_ to Lord Voldemort, then?” 

“There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable.”3 Evan replied, his smirk widening. “But we are getting away from the topic at hand. Lucius would you care to explain about the Horcruxes?” 

Up until his name was mentioned, Lucius was watching both brunettes with an expression of profound confusion. He shook his head and blinked, before clearing his throat. “From what I have learnt, a Horcrux is a magical item that, with the help of a incantation, can house a portion of your soul. It anchors your soul to the earth.”

“So you cannot die? Even if you are killed?” Harry questioned turning to Evan, his eyes wide. 

“Yes. Our Lord has a Horcrux. Several in fact, though we are unaware of how many. That diary is one.” Harry’s eyes flickered to the draw in the desk and back to Evan. “Bellatrix Lestrange, another Death Eater, though she is in prison-”

Harry butted in, “the one who tortured the Longbottoms?”

“Yes. It is nice to know you listen when I talk.” Harry rolled his eyes, but Evan ignored him. “Bellatrix is in possession of a Horcrux. And so am I.”

“What is it? What do you have?” Both of the adults looked at him, mouths tight and faces blank. “Me? Is that even poss- me? Why me?”

“I believe it was accidental on our Lord’s part. You were, after all, supposed to die that night. But you survived, and so did a portion of our Lord’s soul.” Evan’s eyes had strayed up to the lightening bolt-shaped scar on Harry’s forehead. Hidden beneath Muggle make up, it was out of sight, but apparently not out of mind. 

“I want nothing but death.”4 Harry said at last, his voice breathy and soft. “Why is he so afraid to die?”

Evan shrugged his shoulders. It was Lucius that answered, finally picking up on the fact that for most of the conversation, Harry and Evan had been quoting other people’s opinions. “No life that breathes with human breath has ever truly longed for death.”5 

Harry scowled at the blond. “What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly.”6 He folded his arms over his chest and said, “The purpose of life is death. There really is no point in fearing something that comes naturally. Without death, there is no need to _live_ , truly live, and not just exist.”

Evan chuckled heartily, reaching out to ruffle Harry’s hair. “Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's troublesome.”7 

“You’re right,” Harry said, the scowl slipping from his face. “Dying is easy, comedy is hard.”8 He gave a grin of his own, raising a hand to hide it, as Lucius gave a soft chuckle. Lucius had a nice laugh, Harry decided. “So I’m a Horcrux then?” He asked. 

“Yes. And that is how you’ll be helping our Lord. His soul will be searching for you, for the piece of himself inside of you. No doubt, he’s getting closer and closer to England as we speak. Wherever he is hiding now, he won’t remain there much longer. You have a lot to learn before he returns.” Evan told him. “You are a part of him. One and the same, essentially. And I plan for you to be his Heir – the child he will never have. And for my plan to succeed, you have a lot of hard work ahead of you.”

“Once you give a charlatan power over you, you almost never get it back.”9 Harry smirked, turning around to face Evan. 

The man scowled down at him, before his expression smoothed out. “I wouldn’t talk like that in front of the others. And it’s ‘Lord Voldemort’ to you, just so you know.” Evan ushered Harry out of the door and back to the rest of the children. Lucius watched him go, his head tilted to the side and a small sly twist to his lips.

Draco literally bumped into Harry on his way back to the Ruby Lounge. The younger blond scowled. “The whole point of hide and seek, Caen, is that you have to hide and I have to seek you.”

“Are we still playing?” Harry asked curiously. He had been talking to the others for so long it seemed. 

“Yes. You and one other haven’t been found yet. But, well, you’ve been found now.” Draco nodded goodbye, and carried on searching the floor for the last remaining participant in the game. Harry let himself into the Lounge and smiled at the kids who all unhesitantly smiled back at a friend of Lord Malfoy. 

_XXX_

July 31st 1988. Little Whinging. 

The year had seemed to fly by. Social Services were firmly set to take him and Dudley away come September and the Dursleys were so flustered about losing their precious son they had practically forgotten that Harry existed. Harry hoped desperately that they didn’t remember him any time soon. 

“Evan,” Harry whispered as he peered down the stairs leading to the basement. “Remember, the social worker wants to look all over the house. That includes the basement, so you have to take down the Muggle Repelling wards tonight, ok?” He didn’t get a response, but he knew Evan was listening. 

It was out of habit, more than because of any orders, but Harry spent the day cleaning the kitchen. 

In the basement, Evan spoke into the cordless phone, having snuck it down earlier while the Dursleys were visiting their solicitor, seeking to keep custody of Dudley. The Death Eater smirked at the trouble he was causing, but he didn’t care at the moment. Come September, Harry would be out of this house. Perhaps Lucius would be able to help Evan adopt him, and they could both move to Malfoy Manor until Harry was old enough for Hogwarts? It was a nice thought, but not very practical. Aurors still conducted random searches of the Manor, and Lucius would undoubtedly not appreciated being caught with a ‘dead’ Death Eater and the Boy-Who-Lived hidden in his home. 

It didn’t matter where they lived anyway. As long as Harry was out of this house – and because of Muggle authorities and through no doing of his own – they would be out of reach of the blood wards. Their protection and tracking spells would be useless, and Evan could disappear with his child until they absolutely had to come back to their World. 

He hung up the phone. The sooner the better Voldemort re-emerged, he thought, the easier life would be. 

_XXX_

July 31st 1988. Grunnings.

When his supervisor called Vernon into his office, the fat Muggle was deliriously pleased. He was absolutely certain he was about to receive the promotion everyone had been whispering about. He took a seat opposite Mr. Mason and offered a wide smile. 

Anthony cleared his throat nervously, not returning his smile. “I’ve just received some horrible news. Why didn’t you tell me Social Services were investigating your family, Vernon?”

“Oh! That, nasty business, that!” He grunted. “My boy is fine, of course. But that nephew of ours, we could never manage him. Wild ruffian, like his father, that one. Totally out of control. Those social workers,” Vernon scoffed, “don’t have a clue, but they’ll see. The boy is unnatural, and I’m glad they’re taking him away. They won’t get Dudley, though, you’ll see. Mark my words, Dudley will stay with Petunia and I.” 

Anthony Mason cleared his throat again. “Yes, well, regardless, we’ve received some, uh, _complaints_ about employing a, uh, well, a _child abuser_.” Anthony wiped at his forehead with a handkerchief, watching his main drill-worker warily. 

“I… don’t understand.” Vernon said at last. His normally red face had gone waxen and pale.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to let you go, Vernon, old boy. Dreadfully sorry, but as you said yourself, nasty, nasty business.” He stood from his chair, and walked around to Vernon’s side of the table. He gave the man a pat on the back. “After it’s all sorted, come back to me, eh? I’ll give you another interview and we’ll go from there. What’d you say?” He held the door open, and nodded towards it. 

Vernon stood, moving towards the door on autopilot. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he said nothing. He left the room, but stopped Mr. Mason from closing the door in his face. “Who complained?” He asked, desperate to know.

“Uh, a few teachers at the school your boys go to. One or two women from around your neighbourhood, a Mrs. Figg was particularly angry with you. And, uh, well the strangest complaint came from your own address, Vernon.”

The door closed then, and Vernon stared at it for a moment. His hands clenched into fists. Petunia would never have complained about him. She would never have cost him his job. Dudley might have been spiteful enough to get Vernon in trouble at work, if only because Vernon didn’t seem to be wanting to keep Dudley with them (he did, they did, but Dudley didn’t understand that legal matters took precious time), but Dudley didn’t know his work number. The Figg lady might have made the phone call from his house, while poking her nose into their business. But he doubted it. That only left one other person. 

It would not be a good idea to attack the boy. He couldn’t. That social worker was coming on the 2nd August, and she would obviously notice if something was wrong with him. Didn’t she mention that all children had to attend a mandatory hospital check up? Shit! He definitely couldn’t attack the boy if that were the case. 

Vernon decided to drive to the pub closest to his house and drown his sorrows. Maybe he would pass out, and when he woke up this day would have been nothing but a horrible, horrible dream. What was it his mother used to tell him? Everything looks better in the morning light. He squinted out through his windscreen at the sun. Perhaps the sun had to set first, and then rise again, before things looked better?

“That nephew of yours,” someone slurred at him as he took a seat at the bar, “he’ll be a looker when he’s older.” Vernon grunted in reply, ignoring the sound of the man slurping at his beer. “Such a pretty boy. Gonna grow up nice and pretty, have all the boys and girls begging for his attention. I used to be a looker too, y’know. Before I got old.” Vernon turned to the man beside him. It was an old man who lived on Mrs. Figg’s road, but wasn’t known to do much other than tell wild stories about his glory days and drink. 

“That freak will amount to nothing. And he certainly isn’t good looking.” Vernon snarled. “My Dudders is a better looking bloke by far.”

“Still say he’s pretty. Small, though, kinda like a girl. Such a pretty girl.” The man moaned, laying his head on the bar and closing his eyes. Vernon watched him as he drifted to sleep, frowning. 

“Fucking queer,” he hissed, ordering three beers at the once. When he was finished them, he ordered a whiskey, and then a double whiskey, and then two more, and he drank them all consecutively. 

“I don’t think you should drive. You only live a little ways away,” the owner of the pub cautioned, “walk home. Pick up the car tomorrow. The fresh air will do you some good.”

It was still light outside when Vernon started on his way home. He stumbled passed the park, ignoring the scandalized looks several mothers gave him. A few kids looked ready to hustle him, but then recognize him as ‘Big D’s’ father and thought better of it. Vernon heard two girls talking about Dudley and gave a lopsided smile as he heard the word ‘cute’, and then he scowled when he realized they were actually talking about Harry. He walked faster, slipping on the tarmac, but he didn’t fall. He refused to look over at the girls who obviously had no taste, and turned onto his street. 

Petunia took one look at the state of him when he entered the house and wrinkled her nose. “Dudley!” She called up the stairs, “pack a bag.”

She never liked it when Vernon was angry. He loved her, dearly, but even she wasn’t safe from his temper when he had too much to drink. Petunia noticed Vernon eyeing the cupboard under the stairs, and bit her tongue. She didn’t like her nephew and she was actually looking forward to Social Services taking him away, but the look in Vernon’s eyes as he opened the cupboard door – he looked ready to kill the boy. She didn’t want Potter’s kind showing up, accusing her husband of murder. She remembered the horror stories Lily had told her about Wizarding prisons, and she knew it was no place for her kind hearted husband. 

“Don’t do anything stupid, dear,” Petunia warned, once she was outside of the front door. “Call when it’s safe.” She ushered Dudley down the road to the bus stop. She didn’t even care enough to shout a warning to Harry. 

The cupboard was empty, but Vernon found Harry sitting at the top of the stairs leading to the basement. The door was open, and the Muggle Repelling wards had been removed, but the silencing charm was still in place. Vernon wasn’t suddenly overcome with the urge to be somewhere else, like he had been in the past. He snarled, knowing without a doubt that the strange occurrences he had experienced around the basement door in the years passed was due to Harry’s unnaturalness. 

The boy’s hair was getting long, it was almost to his shoulders, and Vernon drunkenly noted that it did make him look sort of like a girl. _Pretty girl_ , the old man in the pub had said, _pretty girl, pretty girl, pretty, pretty_ – 

“Pretty,” Vernon rasped, his mouth suddenly dry. He lurched towards Harry, reaching out unsteadily to grab the boy’s shoulder. Harry rose to his feet, licking his lips and stepping backwards. He looked about ready to flee into the basement – probably hoping his strangeness would stop Vernon following, no doubt – but the Muggle pulled him closer. When Harry was away from the door, Vernon slammed it shut and placed his back against it. “You had it coming. All the times we hurt you,” he slurred. 

Most of his words weren’t understandable, and Harry’s forehead creased in confusion, wondering what had happened to set his uncle off this time. It had been half a year since the man had hurt him last. 

“You’re a freak!” Vernon spat, “you’ve done something to me. Ruining my life, getting me fired, taking Dudley away, and now- now I think you’re pretty! Filthy freak. What have you DONE?” He roared, leaning down, his face against Harry’s. Before Harry could protest, Vernon had crushed their mouths together. The kiss was sloppy and disgusting, and Harry struggled, trying to get away. Vernon’s hands grabbed on to him, one on his head and the other around his waist, pinning him to Vernon’s chest. “Pretty,” he panted as he pulled back, ignoring the wide panicked eyes of his nephew, and leaned down to steal another kiss. 

Harry tried to scream, but Vernon’s mouth muffled the noise. The hand slipped from his waist to the front of Vernon’s trousers and the opened the zip. He took hold of Harry’s hand, forcing it down the front of his pants. 

“Make some use of yourself, boy,” the Muggle panted, rocking his hips forward against the hand. He was still holding onto it, forcing it to move against his cock, pressing Harry’s palm down onto the hardened flesh. Harry’s hand was small and soft and warm, and Vernon could pretend it was a woman’s. Petunia had been having headaches for the last couple of nights, and Vernon figured it was about time he was given some sort of reward for putting up with the boy’s freakishness for all these years. 

His face was on Harry’s again, and despite the boy’s struggles, he couldn’t get away. Pots and pans were floating in mid air, knives and forks were spinning around frantically in the sink, as Harry’s magic began to react to his fear. Picture frames shook on the walls, but Vernon didn’t notice. He had managed to get his trousers down to his knees, exposing himself completely. Vernon tried to force Harry down onto his knees but Harry fought him, refusing to submit. 

Alcohol fogging his brain still, Vernon forgot that he wasn’t suppose to mark Harry. Angry that the boy wouldn’t do as he wanted, Vernon backhanded Harry across the face. The force of the smack sent Harry sprawling. He was lying on his back on the floor, a mark already forming on his cheek, when Vernon straddled his hips. Harry was forced to roll over, lying on his stomach, with one of Vernon’s hands clasped over his mouth. Vernon’s other hand tugged at the hand-me-down trousers that Harry was wearing. They were loose enough that they slip down his hips without needing to be unfastened. Vernon ran a hand over Harry’s bare buttocks, licking his dry lips. 

He needed another drink suddenly, but if he left Harry would probably try to escape. The brat was disobedient like that. 

“Shut up whining,” Vernon snarled, squeezing his hand around Harry’s jaw. “You’re finally doing something right for once. This is what you were born to be, freak. You’ll never be any good for anything else.” 

While Vernon was distracted, stroking his own length, and figuring out how he was actually supposed to penetrate the boy while Harry’s legs were locked together (pinned like that by Vernon’s thighs), Harry’s hands grabbed at the one Vernon had over his mouth. He pulled it away, and sucked in a deep breath. 

“ **EVAN**!” He roared, tears glistening on his face. 

“Who are you talking to, freak?” Vernon asked, as he slid back along Harry’s legs, trying to find a better position. 

“Me,” Evan snarled. He appeared at the top of the stairs looking like a Fury. Dressed all in black, his cloak billowing around his ankles and his hood covering his face, with a wand pointed at the half-naked Muggle, he was Death incarnate. 

But Vernon was too intoxicated to be afraid. “Who are you?” He slurred. 

“I was the kid next door's imaginary friend.”10 He raised his wand, but Harry screamed: 

“No magic!” They were within the wards. 

Evan’s wand hit the floor with a ‘thump’, and in the next second – the time it took Vernon to realize this was another Wizard – Evan had launched himself across the kitchen and tackled Vernon off of Harry. The child curled in on himself, trembling as he watched his ‘father’. Evan’s hands were around Vernon’s throat and he _squeezed_ and **squeezed** until the Muggle was blue in the face. Vernon’s eyes were bugging out and they rolled in his sockets before fixing on Harry for a moment and then rolling back into his head. 

Evan’s hands continued to choke the man, long after he had stopped breathing. When he finally brought himself to let go, Harry was staring at him with wide eyes. 

“What have you done?” He breathed, pulling up his trousers. 

“What I should have done a long time ago.” He reached forward and dragged the boy into his lap. He held Harry tightly, and if asked he would have denied crying. But the boy could feel the tears falling onto his hair and running down over his cheeks, mixing with tears of his own. Vernon’s corpse lay beside them, ignored, as the two Wizard clung to each other until the after the sunset. 

Even though he was crying, Harry couldn’t help but smile. Vernon was dead. 

Life was looking up. 

**XXX**

1 – Inkheart. But I don’t remember whom it is by… I have it upstairs somewhere.  
2 – “Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.” – Oscar Wilde.   
3 – “There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable.” – Mark Twain.  
4 – “I want nothing but death.” – Jane Austen.  
5 – “No life that breathes with human breath has ever truly longed for death.” – Alfred, Lord Tennyson, ‘The Two Voices’.   
6 – “What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly.” – Richard Bach. It’s like saying ‘death is but the next great adventure’.   
7 – “Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's troublesome.” – Isaac Asimov.  
8 – “Dying is easy, comedy is hard.”- George Bernard Shaw.   
9 – “Once you give a charlatan power over you, you almost never get it back.” – Carl Sagan. Harry doesn’t actually mean this one: he is just teasing Evan.   
10 – “I was the kid next door's imaginary friend.” – Emo Philips. 

 

I wanted to point something out. When people get angry at me because the adults in Harry’s life ignore the fact that he is so obviously abused, don’t get mad. I’m following canon. Seriously, if JK’s adults were any good, Harry would never have remained at the Dursleys. The adult Dursleys, upstanding citizens that they are, have poisoned the minds of anyone willing to listen, until eventually they all believe that Harry belongs at St Brutus’ School for Incurably Criminal Boys. 

I wouldn’t be surprised, if in canon, Aurors randomly Obliviated any Muggle who so much as thought of helping Harry out. Social Services don’t suck that badly, most of the time. 

As for Dudley – I’m basing him off of a boy I actually knew growing up. He was a little shit in school, but not to me. I would have beaten him up, and he knew it!

As to the semi-attempted-rape: after all of the things Evan allowed them to do to Harry, it would have needed to be something terrible for Evan to lose control and retaliate like that. It was also in the warnings.


	10. Chapter 09

**Words:** 3,435  
 **Chapter 9**  
July 31st 1988. Little Whinging.

The phone was ringing. 

Evan knew he should answer it, but he didn’t want to let Harry go. His arms tightened around the boy, pulling their bodies closer together. Harry’s face was pressed against his neck, and Evan had felt the tears stop some time ago, but he hadn’t let go then, and he wouldn’t let go now. 

“You should answer the phone,” the Death Eater told Harry. The child just nuzzled his face against Evan’s neck in response. Neither of them made to get up. 

The answering machine picked up, and Evan turned his head to face Vernon’s corpse as the woman from social services started speaking down the line. 

“Hello, this is Amelia Denning. I am ringing to remind you of our visit in two days time. There are just a few things we need to go over with your solicitor, so if you could call me back and give me their phone number, I would gratefully appreciate it. I will see you soon, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley.” 

A beep filled the room as the woman hung up. 

“What are we going to do?” Harry whispered, pulling away from Evan. 

The elder Wizard stood, helping the child up as well. “The same thing we do every night, Pinkie.” He grinned, leading Harry towards the back door. “Try to take over the world.”

“I’m being serious!”

“So am I!” The man mocked. He pulled his wand out, once they were outside of the range of the wards and pointed it at his throat. Harry didn’t hear what he said, but the next time he spoke, he sounded like Vernon Dursley. “Go inside and find a scissors, or a razor. I’m going to put the Muggle in the basement, and put back up the wards. Don’t worry; I’ll take them down before Social Services arrive! I’m going to get Lucius. While I’m gone, I want you to remove _all_ of the Muggle’s hair. All of it, Harry, understand?”

“Even… down there?” The child asked, wrinkling his nose in disgust. 

“Wipe that look off of your face. I’m the one who has to ingest it.” Harry gave him a confused look, eyebrows furrowed as he tried to think of any reason for Evan needing to eat hair. 

“A potion? Which one?”

“You’ll see.” Evan ushered them into the house again and moved towards the phone. He dialled Petunia’s mobile number. The Dursleys were one of those families who left their address books, fully filled out, right beside their phone. When the phone picked up, he began to talk. “Pet, I was thinking, maybe you should take Dudley to a hotel, stay a few days. Until it’s safe.”

“Vernon, what happened?” Petunia breathed. Evan could almost imagine her clutching at her chest as she spoke. “Was it… _his kind_?” 

“I didn’t mean to, pet. I swear. But he made me so angry. Maybe you should keep Dudley away, just for a while, just until I know _they_ aren’t watching anymore.”

“Did you hurt him?” She asked, her voice cool, but not accusing. 

“Yes. But he’ll be fine, pet. Wasn’t anything the little freak didn’t have coming anyway.” Evan scowled. He knew he was speaking, but it was Vernon’s voice he could hear and he could see Harry flinching at the words. It left a sour taste in his mouth. “I have to go now,” he said, cutting into whatever she was in the process of saying. He had the overwhelming need to get off of the phone. “Bye.” He hung up. Her ‘I love you’ was interrupted by the ring tone, and Evan dropped the phone and dragged Harry into a hug. 

He couldn’t cancel the spell on his voice until he left the house. “I need to leave now. I’ll move the Muggle first.” Harry was holding a scissors and a roll of zip-lock bags when Evan came out of the basement. “The wards are up. Get started, I’ll be back soon.” 

_XXX_

July 31st 1988. Malfoy Manor.

Evan hadn’t apparated in so long. The trip from Surrey to the Leaky Cauldron had left him dizzy and out of sorts. The barman, Tom, had taken pity on him and handed him a shot of Firewhiskey without needing to be asked. Once Evan had paid for the drink, Tom handed over a bag of floo powder, absolutely free. 

“Help yourself,” he said, slapping Evan lightly on the shoulder. “How’s your boy?” He asked then, waiting for an answer before walking away. 

Evan stepped out of the fireplace in Lucius’ study without a speck of dust on him. He brushed down his arms anyway, giving a stiff nod at the blond who was watching him. Draco was in the room as well, standing as close to his father’s side as he could manage. When Evan was clear of the fireplace, Draco came forward, waiting for Caen to floo through. 

“He isn’t coming.” Evan said rather rudely. “I need to speak with you, Lucius.” The blond’s eyebrows rose, but he stood up from his chair and moved towards his fellow Death Eater. “He’s dead. And I find myself in need of your assistance once again.” 

Lucius smoothed down his robes, offering a reassuring smile at his son and moved towards the fireplace. “Don’t worry, Draco. I’m sure Caen is fine. Mr. Alfred is speaking of someone else.” Hesitantly, Draco allowed Evan to shoo him from the study. “Evan! What have you done?” The blond hissed, grabbing the bowl of floo powder off of the mantelpiece. 

“What I needed to do.” Evan took a handful, but it slid through his fingers as he clenched his hand in anger. “He had his hands all over… he was trying to force himself on… he had no right! He deserved worse than I gave him, Lucius.” He took the bowl off of Lucius, hands clenching tightly around the rim. 

“You know how much trouble you’ve probably caused? A MONTH, Evan, just one more month and Harry would have been out of there anyway. You couldn’t _wait_?” The blond Wizard scolded, his face pinched with anger. 

“He was trying to **rape** my son.” Evan roared the r-word, throwing the bowl towards the fireplace, where it shattered with a crash. “If it were Draco, if I had Draco pinned down, naked, and was trying to force him, fuck him, what would you do? Would you have _waited_?” Evan sneered. He reached out to grab Lucius, but the man snapped his right arm forward, wand outstretched and pointed at the brunette. 

“I would have disarmed you, and allowed the authorities to do their job.” Lucius said, his voice tense and his back stiff. 

Evan eyed his left hand, which was clenched so tightly the knuckles had turned bone white. “Liar.” The animagus snarled. “You would have killed me, and loved every moment of it. I have no regrets.”

Lucius lowered his wand. “You’ve probably terrified Harry, you know.” He clicked his fingers, and a House Elf appeared. They watched in silence as the creature cleaned up the broken shards and dashes of floo powder. A new bowl replaced the old one on the mantelpiece before the creature popped out of the room. 

“I’ve seen you. You watch him when you think I’m not looking. You stare at him, at my son, and I have done nothing to you. Nothing. I have let you watch him, fantasise about him, because I know you would not hurt him.” Lucius had gone impossibly still, his pale cheeks flushed in embarrassment and shame. He watched Evan now, cautiously raising his wand again. “Do you honestly believe Harry’s first time should have been underneath that disgusting Muggle? Would that not have terrified him more than my actions?”

Lucius’ expression changed again, his lips curled upwards into a sneer, and his eyes darkened in anger. “I believe you should have waited. For me.” Sparks jetted from the end of Lucius’ wand. Anger at the thought of anyone touching Harry spiked through him. “How can I be of assistance?” He asked some time later, when he had calmed. 

“Firstly, I will continue to allow your fascination to flourish, as long as nothing occurs against Harry’s will or inclination. You will not hurt my son.” Lucius nodded in agreement. He had no intention of acting on any sort of desire with a child who hadn’t even reached Hogwarts age yet. “You are friends with Snape, are you not? I need a Potion from him.”

“How is that going to help you? The Muggle is dead! What will you tell the Aurors?”

“Tell them? Why, nothing, Lucius. I will be taking the Polyjuice Potion that you will insist Severus makes for you. Maybe you could pretend Draco has taken an interest in learning, and Severus can brew it as an example?”

“You wish to involve Draco?” Lucius asked with narrowed eyes. 

“It is about time the child learnt who Harry really is.” Evan shrugged. “The woman will be away from the house for a few days. She always flees when the Muggle starts drinking. I informed her that she should stay away for a little while longer. Social Services are visiting in two days. Without the Muggle there, with me as the Muggle, it should not be too hard to change their minds. Harry will be safer if he does not leave that house.”

“And it affords you the time to torment the remaining two Muggles, no?” Lucius smirked. 

“That hadn’t even occurred to me,” Evan said with a snort. “Floo Snape. I need that potion by tomorrow.” Evan stepped back into the fireplace, and threw down a handful of powder. “The Leaky Cauldron.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Lucius told him, just before Evan disappeared in a puff of green smoke. 

_XXX_

July 31st 1988. Little Whinging.

Harry had left the bags of hair in the basement, beside Vernon’s body. He was sitting in the kitchen with Mrs. Figg, staring out into the garden as the woman spoke about her dead husband. Evan and Lucius apparated into the garden at the same time. Harry’s eyes widened as he turned to face Mrs. Figg. Fortunately, the old woman had missed the arrival of the two Death Eaters because her purse had fallen onto the floor and she was busy scooping up her belongings. 

“Uh,” Harry started, before clearing his throat. When he spoke again, he was practically shouting, wanting to make sure that Evan could hear him. “Mrs. Figg, thank you for stopping by, but you really don’t have to wait. Uncle Vernon told Aunt Petunia to take Dudley to a hotel for a few nights. They won’t be back any time soon.”

Arabella frowned, “than you can’t stay here alone. Come on, young man, you can stay with me.” She straightened up and grabbed hold of Harry’s arm. Surprisingly strong, she managed to drag Harry from his chair. 

Vernon’s voice suddenly filtered through from the garden, but when Harry looked there was no sign of anybody. Lucius had disillusioned them both, and Evan had changed his voice again. He kicked the garden fence, muttering, “Bloody gate. Should make the boy fix it. Blinding hell! Think I just got a splinter. Blasted fence.” He kicked it again. 

Mrs. Figg watched with wide eyes. “You said they were gone?”

“No, no,” Harry corrected in a whisper, “just Aunt Petunia and Dudley.” 

“Oh well that changes things then. I suppose I can’t just drag you off, though god knows that _man_ wouldn’t care what happened to you. Well, dear, I better leave.” Harry walked her to the door and smiled as she pulled him into a quick hug. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.” 

Harry watched until she was out of sight before closing the door and running back to the kitchen. “It’s ok now.” Evan and Lucius appeared again, and entered the kitchen. 

“How are you?” Lucius asked, reaching out to squeeze the boy’s hand softly. Evan suppressed a chuckle, his fingers against his mouth as he tried to hide how his lips twitched. Lucius immediately dropped the hand, not moving to place a kiss against it this time, and took a step away from the eight-year-old. 

“Have you finished?” Evan asked. He slung an arm around Harry’s shoulders and pulled the boy against his side. 

“Yes, they are in the basement with him.” 

“Go wait in the garden.” He told Harry. Harry walked outside as Evan led Lucius down into the basement. 

They came out a moment later, struggling to carry the large body between them. They had levitated him up the basement stairs, but had to cancel the charm as they made their way through the kitchen. A flick of Lucius’ wand disrupted the earth beside Harry’s feet. He scrambled backwards, afraid of falling into the large hole that suddenly appeared in the ground. The dirt that had been there, was sitting in a pile beside Lucius now. The two Death Eaters dumped the body into the hole. Evan cast a handful of spells, ‘Preserving Charms’ he said, and together, he and Lucius spelled the dirt back into the grave. When they were finished, it looked as it had before they started. Nothing, not even a blade of grass, had changed. 

“In a few years, when the Dark Lord returns, Vernon will have to look as if he has been alive. That’s why we preserved the body. We can fake his death later, when it is safe for you to leave here.”

“We aren’t going? But-” Harry began, eyes wide as he looked between the two adults. 

“You and I will be staying here. Lucius and a friend of his will be helping us. Social Services will have no choice but to relinquish guardianship to me. Everything will work out for the best, my child, I promise you. I will keep you safe now.” Evan held out his arms, and Harry watched him warily for a moment, before throwing himself forward into Rosier’s embrace. 

“What Potion are you using?” Harry asked, his face pressed to Evan’s chest. 

“Go look it up. Lazy.” Evan chastised lightly. He was sure it wouldn’t take Harry too long to figure it out. After all, he did own a copy of ‘ **Moste Potent Potions** ’. The Polyjuice Potion was one of the author’s favourites. 

_XXX_

August 2nd 1988. Little Whinging.

Petunia arrived home half an hour before Miss Denning did. She looked around the house with her eyes narrowed, looking for any evidence that Vernon had hurt the freak while she was gone. Lord knows men never clean up their messes, and Petunia wanted everything to be neat and tidy and _perfect_ when Social Services came to talk about Dudley. 

Their lawyer was meant to be there, but he must have been held up in traffic. Petunia didn’t ring him, as that was Vernon’s job and she trusted him to do it. 

Evan appeared in the doorway of their bedroom. It wasn’t somewhere he looked forward to sleeping, but for now it would have to do. Petunia moved closer to him, her bony arms wrapping around his neck as she pulled his head down for an ‘Eskimo kiss’. Evan rubbed his nose once she pulled away, wiping his hand on his trousers then in distaste. 

“We need to clear something up, pet,” he said in Vernon Dursley’s voice. Petunia sat on the edge of the bed, patting the space beside her invitingly. His face was expressionless, but he sat stiffly, shifting away as Petunia moved closer. “The boy will be staying here. Both of them. That woman from social services will not be taking the boys away.”

“But, but, we don’t want Potter, remember?” She stuttered. 

“Things change.”

“What have they done to you?” She gasped, jumping away from him. Her hand was pressed over her heart as she started sobbing. “His kind have done something to you, haven’t they? What have they done?” She looked like she wanted to hug him, and Evan hoped she didn’t, but she also looked like she was afraid to come near him. Just in case whatever the Wizards had ‘done’ to him was contagious. 

“Harry will be staying. He will be sleeping in his own bedroom: Dudley doesn’t need two. And you will not get him to do anything in this house that he doesn’t want to do. Do you understand me, dear?” Evan hissed, eyes narrowing.

Petunia was crying to hard to speak, but she managed to nod her head. Evan was half way down the stairs before Petunia had composed herself. She ran after him, “don’t worry,” she promised, “I’ll get you help.”

“Who will believe you, pet? Mrs. Figg, the crazy cat lady? Andy Abraham from Winchley Drive, who thinks he can fly? Old Man Roberts, who’s as crazy as Mrs. Figg? No one will believe you. There is nothing you can do.” He carried on down the stairs, reaching the bottom just as the doorbell rang. “Potter will be staying.”

“Where is your lawyer?” Amelia Denning asked as she entered the house. 

“We have no need for him.” ‘Vernon’ answered. Petunia gasped, her mouth opened but no words came out. Dudley stood by her side, red faced from crying at finding Harry in his ‘second’ bedroom. The fatter boy scowled as the redheaded woman reached out to shake his hand. She held her hand out to Harry, who for once was dressed decently (in clothes Draco had loaned him). Harry gripped her hand lightly and shook once. 

“Well then, we may as well get started.” 

The doorbell rang again. Harry opened it with a frown. He didn’t recognize the man at the door, but the way he reached out to shake Harry’s hand, but instead kissed the back of it, was very familiar. Lucius waited outside. “Amelia?” He called, and the woman came out to greet him. 

“Jason, what are you doing here?” She asked, frowning. He was supposed to be working on a placement for the two boys for September. He wasn’t supposed to be at Number 4. As one of the solicitors for Social Services, Jason Rathbone had plenty of work to do, but very little of it involved meeting the children he actually represented.

“There’s been a change of plans.” Lucius’ voice was his own when he spoke, and Miss Denning gave a gasp of fright as a pointed stick was suddenly levelled in her face. “ _Imperio_.” He handed over a folded up sheet of paper. He had about five. The remaining four he handed to Evan. “Sign them,” he instructed.

Amelia did as she was told, and then she was _Obliviated_. Evan signed his papers. He dipped the pen he was given into a vial of his own blood, which he pulled out of his pocket. ‘Evan Rosier’ glistened on the page, the sun brightening the red until it sparkled. He blew on it to dry it, and handed the adoption papers over to Amelia Denning. 

“Thank you for your co-operation, miss. My family are very much excited about taking care of young Harry.”

“Don’t worry about any follow-up meetings,” Lucius told her, strengthening the _Imperius_ just in case. They walked into the house. 

A car started up outside, and Miss. Denning drove away. The papers that handed Harry over into Evan’s guardianship were folded up on the passenger seat and the first thing she was going to do when she got to work was hand them over to her assistance to file. 

When the door was closed, Lucius’ Polyjuice wore off. Evan took a sip out of a whiskey flask he had in his other pocket, and offered a tight smile to the blond. 

“That went well?” Harry asked. 

Lucius looked at Harry and smiled widely. “Very well, I believe.”

The three Wizards turned to face Petunia and Dudley. The two Muggles were watching them, opened mouthed, their backs pressed against the wall. Petunia was blinking frantically, her mouth working silently. Dudley scowled, stepped in front of his mother, and placed his hands on his hips. “Get out of our house, freaks!” He hissed at Lucius and Harry. “Daddy, tell them!” 

Evan tilted his head to one side. He looked between Harry and Dudley and smirked. His hand flew out, and clipped the boy across the cheek, sending him sprawling back into his mother.

Dudley whimpered. “Daddy?”

“VERNON!” Petunia screeched. 

He ignored both of them. Evan turned to Harry instead, pulled the boy against his side. Harry watched the other two quietly, as Evan spoke. “Things are going to change.” He promised them. 

**XXX**

My friend, Mykaila, came back from Turkey the week this chapter was written. She bought me a diary (and Sarah said it was expensive, because she got one last year) and it looks just like Tom Riddle’s, except that the cover is leather with metal corners. It even has yellow pages. I said it was brilliant when I thanked her. Her brother said, “Until it starts writing back”. Grin. Thought I’d share my amusement. Mykaila didn’t get it, cause she doesn’t like Harry Potter, but Andrew and me found it funny.


	11. Chapter 10

**Words:** 3,173  
 **Chapter 10**  
September 1st 1988. Little Whinging Primary School.

Time could bring about the greatest of changes. With enough time, anything was possible. People could fall in love in minutes and fall out of love in years. Time brought opportunities, endless possibilities to do things and experience things and learn things. For people with patience, time was their greatest ally. To those that feared change, time could be their strongest enemy. 

A lot of things could change with a little time. 

Adam Grange watched the Dursley family with a frown. He stood by the school gates, arms folded across his chest and he noted to himself, exactly how much had changed since June. Petunia Dursley appeared skinnier than usual, if that were even possible. Her son was pressed close to her side, and Mr Grange couldn’t be sure, but Dudley looked like he had lost a small bit of weight as well. Vernon Dursley was as red-faced and wobbly as the maths teacher remembered him. But the one who had changed the most was Harry Potter. 

When Adam thought about Harry, he thought about Oliver Twist. They both had the same waif like appearance, the both seemed poor and vulnerable and, he suspected, abused. The trouble with Social Services last month confirmed all of his suspicions, but then they had just left Harry with that horrible family anyway. But the threat of having both boys forcefully taken away from them must have done some good. Because Harry looked nothing like Adam remembered. 

This boy was practically glowing. His ugly, broken glasses were missing, and in their place were a nice-looking rectangular pair. They were clean, and the bridge of them wasn’t held together by tape. His clothes actually fit him, and they looked tailored. 

Dudley’s uniform was the same from the year before, and it was too short for his arms and legs and looked about ready to burst at the seams. Petunia was obviously flustered by this fact because she kept tugging on the boy’s shirt, pulling it down on his wrists and then scowling when it wouldn’t stretch to fit him. 

Harry’s shoes were shinny and new, polished black leather loafers, with laces. The child was grinning, wider than Adam could ever remember seeing him smile, and occasionally he would look up at his uncle and his smile would stretch that much wider. Vernon had a hand on Harry’s shoulder, his mouth set into a sneer, but he offered Harry a smile in return for every smile Harry sent his way. Mr. Grange couldn’t honestly believe what he was seeing. It was so different, so surreal. 

That was the same man, who rang him up two years previously and shouted abuse down the phone at him for sending Harry a birthday card. A card, of all things. It wasn’t like he had sent the child anything extravagant! It was a card! 

And now, there Vernon was, _smiling_ at the boy, as if they actually liked each other. 

Adam snickered to himself as he moved away from the gate. Harry waved in his direction as they passed him. Adam waved back. He ushered the rest of the students through the school gates, and waited for the parents to walk back out, so that he could lock up and head back inside. He watched mothers and fathers say goodbye to their kids, and then he watched as Vernon Dursley ignored Dudley completely but pulled Harry ‘freak’ Potter into a hug. He snorted as he watched them. Strange things could happen with a little time, he supposed.

 _XXX_

December 24th 1988. Malfoy Manor.

The house elves had turned off the lights some time ago. It was late, very late. In fact, it was so late that if the boys didn’t go to sleep soon, Santa Claus might just pass them over. Harry had his eyes screwed tightly closed, trying to force himself to drift asleep. Draco, on the other hand, wasn’t really that worried. No one would dare ignore a Malfoy. Certainly not St. Nicholas. Especially not on Christmas Eve. 

Pureblood Wizards didn’t celebrate Christmas, but rather Yule. However, the tradition of giving gifts started out Pagan, before the church converted it to suit their needs. The Wizards celebrated their winter solstice and Yule, and they threw balls and parties and made offerings to any respective gods or goddesses. Though no self-respecting child, Pureblood or otherwise, was going to argue against receiving heaps of presents for doing absolutely nothing to earn them. So while the traditional families in the Wizarding World didn’t celebrate Christmas, gifts continued to be handed out on Christmas Eve, whether by parents or Santa the children didn’t particularly care. 

“I’m glad you’re here, Harry.” Draco whispered. 

Harry made a humming noise. “I only came cause Evan said Professor Snape wouldn’t be here. He’s at a Potions Conference in the Americas right?”

“Yeah.” Draco sat up, eyes narrowed. “Don’t you like Severus? He’s my godfather, you know.”

“I don’t know him. But Evan doesn’t trust him. He’s been staying with you recently, hasn’t he?”

“Yeah. He’s teaching me to make some Potions. The only one I’ve really mastered is the Polyjuice Potion.” Harry had to suppress a grin at that. “But there are other interesting ones he said he’d teach me too!”

Harry and Evan had been staying at Malfoy Manor since the 21st December. They had finally decided it was time to tell Draco the truth. It was because of Draco’s ‘desire to learn’ that Evan was being kept in constant supply of the Polyjuice Potion. He had placed it in a whiskey flask and cast an _Everlast_ charm on it. This way, he could store the rest of the vials Draco and Snape made (because if Voldemort didn’t rise for five years, Snape was bound to grow suspicious of Draco’s need to learn the Polyjuice again and again). Contrary to the name of the charm, it only duplicated something enough to last for six months. Every six months, Evan would have to refill the flask. 

Draco had taken the truth well enough. He had only been told about Evan Rosier and Harry Potter. Neither had mentioned anything about Vernon’s death or what the potion was being used for. Lucius had refrained from mentioning his involvement as well. Draco had frowned at Harry for a moment, called him ‘Caen’ and then remembered himself. 

“Harry Potter, is it? Well. I suppose you’d be a decent friend then, being a half-blood at least. As long as you’re not going to end up in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff when we go to Hogwarts, then I suppose I’ll forgive you.” He had held his hand out, and Harry had shaken it. A genuine smile had settled on Draco’s face. 

Harry looked over at him in the bed. They were sleeping in Draco’s room for the night. Harry had been given his own room, but it was actually closer to Lucius’ room than it was to the Malfoy heir’s. Draco hadn’t trusted Harry to wait for him in the morning before opening the presents, so he had demanded that Harry share his bed for the night, so he could keep an eye on him. The blond’s bed was large enough for more than the both of them, so none of the adults had bothered to complain. Draco, as usual, was given what he asked for. 

“Hey Harry?”

“Yeah?” The brunette asked. 

“Good night.”

Harry waited until Draco had rolled over, before rolling his eyes at the blond’s back. “Yeah, good night.”

 _XXX_

February 14th 1989. Diagon Alley.

Evan scowled at the people in front of him. Despite the fact that he was obviously walking there, those people insisted on moving towards him, bumping into him, brushing against him. One even knocked Harry over. All of them, rushing about carrying pink and red heart shaped packages, scrambling all over one another, it was disgusting. 

Harry’s school was closed for the week and he hadn’t wanted to leave the boy at Number 4 with just Petunia and Dudley around. Lucius and his family were in France for the month. Draco had brought his tutor with him, so that wasn’t a problem, but it meant Evan couldn’t have them mind Harry either. He needed to speak to some of his old associates, test the waters, make a few enquiries and he wasn’t certain it was safe for Harry to be there at the same time. 

He and Lucius had agreed that it was best to hide his involvement with the child until the Dark Lord actually returned. The Dark Lord was volatile, and sometimes unstable, and there was no telling what he would think of Evan and Lucius siding with Harry in his absence. It would be better to explain things to the Dark Lord, before introducing Harry to the other Death Eaters. 

But there was nowhere to leave Harry. So Harry had to come with him. 

Tennyson Alfred, Evan’s alias while under several glamour spells, wondered through Diagon Alley. Harry was nearing his ninth birthday and Evan had deemed it safe enough to apply a few simple glamour charms to the child as well. They looked like father and son, and Harry kept his mouth shut as he trailed after Rosier towards Knockturn Alley. 

“Remember, do not touch anything.” The elder Wizard warned. 

Harry nodded his head. His glamoured brown eyes widened as Evan ushered him into **Borgin & Burkes**. His eyes fixed on a Hand of Glory, and Harry moved towards it slowly, though he kept his hand by his side because Evan had told him not to touch anything. He didn’t speak, or ask any questions, but that in itself was enough for Mr. Borgin to grow suspicious of him. 

“Who’s this?” He snarled, nodding at Harry. His right hand rested on his left arm, and when Harry turned his head to look at him, the fingers flexed, gripping tightly over the area, hiding his Dark Mark. 

A wand pressed against his Adams apple. Evan narrowed his eyes. “My son,” he said. 

“I… see,” the other man finally said. “Will he be, uh, joining our cause?”

“In time,” Evan allowed. “But speaking of, you wouldn’t happen to have heard anything would you?”

Harry tuned them out. Subtle or not subtle, he had not interest in their conversation. If it were important, Evan would have included him. And if not, Evan would tell him about it later anyway. The fingers of the Hand of Glory flexed as well, and Harry was tempted to reach out and grab it, but he didn’t. Instead he watched as the Hand flipped over, and began to crawl, dragging itself forward by its fingers, across the shelf. He let out a gasp as it jumped, launching towards Harry’s throat. 

A jet of red light hit the Hand before it could catch Harry, and the Hand fell with a thump to the floor. Harry turned to see who had rescued him and frowned. A man in Red Auror robes, flanked by a tall black man in matching robes and a young woman dressed in blue, stared back at him, looking equally pensive. 

“What are you doing here, child? You should be more careful.” The black Auror said. “My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt.” He rested a hand on Harry’s shoulder, pulling him away from the shelf that had displayed the Hand of Glory, as well as a few other interesting looking artefacts. 

“Where are your parents?” Nymphandora Tonks asked. 

Harry looked around, but Evan was gone. His eyes narrowed, focusing on the green and brown butterfly that was hovering around the single bare light bulb, before his expression blanked out. 

“Dead.” He said stiffly. “And yours?”

“Uh,” the woman stuttered, “they’re good thanks.”

“What are you doing here?” The man who had spelled the Hand spoke. He was shorter than the other man, but he had a lot more facial hair.1 

“Rufus!” Kingsley chided. 

“I’m lost. Obviously.” Harry adopted the tone Draco generally used when he was annoyed about something, and raised his chin up. He glanced at them out of the corner of his eyes, looking, he hoped, aloof and calm. “I’m sure someone will come looking for me eventually.”

“Well, until then, why don’t you come with us?” Tonks asked. She looked very young, barely more than a teenager. She’s either skipped her NEWTs or she’d graduated early, but Harry didn’t really care either way. All he cared about was making sure he didn’t get taken away from Evan. 

“If you could just bring me back to Gringotts, I would appreciate it. My father is good friends with the Goblins. They shan’t mind watching me until father comes back.” Harry made a step towards the shop entrance. “Well?” 

“I suppose,” Kingsley started, “that wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“How’d you find this place anyway?” Rufus Scrimgeour snarled. “Is your father a Dark Wizard, boy?” He pointed a finger at Mr. Borgin, eyes narrowed. “Don’t think you’re getting away with anything, scum. We’ve received a complaint about you, and we will be back to sort things out. Don’t go anywhere.”

Scrimgeour grabbed Harry’s arm and tugged him, dragging the boy out of the shop. The butterfly followed, flying as fast as he could to make it through the door before it closed after the Witch. Evan landed in Harry’s hair, burrowing down, and hiding himself beneath the thick, black strands. 

The Aurors were reluctant to leave Harry alone at the bank, but they did after a brief hushed debate between themselves. Rufus insisted on waiting by the doors, though, until a Goblin came over and beckoned Harry into another room. Evan was waiting there already, though Harry hadn’t noticed him leave his hair. 

The Goblin cleared his throat. “My, my, my,” he said with a leer, “what a Darkness you have.” He sat behind his desk, his teeth bared in a hungry grin and his black eyes were fixed on Harry’s hidden scar.

“All the better to corrupt you with,” Evan drawled, his hand moving to rest on Harry’s lower back. “Caen and I thank you for your assistance. May your family always prosper.” 

“And may your _vaults_ be always filled with gold.” The Goblin said in reply, emphasising the plural. The nameplate on his desk said ‘Griphook’. 

Harry stopped in his tracks, and turned around to face the Goblin. “Gold?” He questioned softly. He knew Evan had a vault, which had been frozen by the Ministry, but that Tennyson Alfred also had a vault. He knew Lucius had several vaults, because Lucius had bought him many things with his gold, but Harry had never considered the possibility that he could have money. 

“Did you really think your parents left you nothing?” Griphook asked, lacing his fingers beneath his chin. This grin was just as shark-like as the last. “My, my, my, you are a very rich little boy, Harry Potter.”

“How did you know who I was?” Harry asked softly.

“Oh we Goblins have our ways and our means, just like you Wizards do.” His eyes were still fixed on Harry’s scar. “Do you have any idea? Well, he must.” Griphook tipped his head at Evan. “The Dark Lord’s Horcrux. You are the second to step into our grasp. It is such a pity we cannot keep you in one of our vaults, like the other. We could keep you safe that way.”

“Why do you care about his safety? I thought Goblins were neutral. They refused to join Lord Voldemort last time.” Rosier sneered. 

“But last time,” Griphook said, without denying any of Evan’s accusations, “he didn’t have the Boy-Who-Lived on his side. We Goblins are warriors, through and through. We know better than to take sides when both suffer from uncertainty. But now,” his eyes raked over Harry, before landing back on the scar, “he cannot lose.”

Harry knew the ‘he’ referred to the Dark Lord. 

The idea of being a pawn in the midst of a war between Voldemort and Dumbledore didn’t appeal to him in the least. He wrinkled his nose at the thought. He would serve Voldemort, because it would make Evan happy. But he would not take _sides_ until he knew more. He would be loyal to the Dark Lord and he would not betray him, but Harry would not acknowledge the Wizard as _his Lord_ until Harry knew enough about him. Harry would wait until the Dark Lord returned. He would wait and see what the man was like, learn and study the other Wizard, and then he would pick a side. 

Until then, he would be no ones pawn. 

Evan seemed to know what he was thinking, because he dragged Harry from the room before Griphook could say anymore. “Be careful with your thoughts, Caterpillar.” Evan warned. “There are Witches and Wizards who could pluck that thought right out of your head, just by looking you in the eye. You are entitled to your opinion, and I am sure the Dark Lord will value your loyalty and support more if it is deserved rather than forced.”

“Would you force me?” Harry whispered. 

“No. But He might. And so might many others. Perhaps you should not entertain thoughts of that nature. Just for the time being.”

“I will not change my opinion, Evan. I refuse to jump into this. I need to consider the pros and the cons, and the possible consequences. What if I do decided to become a Death Eater, and we train me to be his Heir, but he doesn’t want an heir? Or what if he is angry with me for what happened _that night_ and decided out right to kill me? I won’t be able to protect myself from a Dark Lord, Evan. Regardless of how much you teach me, or that I have his soul inside of me, I still have so much less experience and little chance of winning against him. If I alienate the people on the other side of the war now, I may not be able to seek protection from them if I need it.”2

“You would betray us?” Evan wouldn’t look at Harry when he spoke. 

“Never. Not you. And I wouldn’t know anything about Lord Voldemort to tell them, and if I did, I wouldn’t tell them. I agree with your principles, not theirs. But if he wants to kill me, I’m not going to just stand there and accept it. I won’t betray him, but that won’t stop me from hiding from him either.” 

“Well, you won’t be a Gryffindor then. They seem to act first, think later for everything. I am… pleased that you are putting this level of thought into your decisions.” Evan reached over and gave Harry a quick hug. “It would be best to protect thoughts of that nature, if you cannot make yourself stop thinking them.” Evan decided. 

He changed directions, steering Harry towards **Flourish & Blotts**. “What do you know of _Occlumency_? I believe it is about time you learnt.” 

**XXX**

TBC

Thanks to everyone who has left a comment, or a Kudos :)

1 – Rufus Scrimgeour: became Minister of Magic in HBP. Before that he was a regular Auror, and then he made Head of the Auror Division. At the moment, he’s still just a regular Auror. Tonks is a trainee, that’s why her robes are a different colour. She’s only about 16 or 17 at this point. 

2 – Harry is a Ravenclaw in this world, remember. He is logical, and rational, and seeks to learn everything there is to learn about something before he makes a decision on that matter. For instance, CoS. The Ravenclaws wanted to study Harry first before they would believe he was the Heir of Slytherin. Harry isn’t likely to just join Voldemort because Evan tells him to. Harry had legitimate fears and concerns about his welcome from Voldemort (these will be address in more detail later in the story), and he isn’t stupid enough to invest his time and life into something that is just going to turn around and bite him in the arse.   
If the Dark Lord does want to kill him, Dumbledore is the sort of person who would protect him (see Draco in HBP). Harry knows that alienating potential allies is stupid. He might not agree with Dumbledore’s ideas or condone the man’s choices (being left with the Muggles) but Harry had read enough to know that Dumbledore is the only Wizard Voldemort fears. Who better to seek protection from?   
But no, Harry will NOT be a Light Wizard. He’s just keeping his options open at the moment.


	12. Chapter 11

**Words:** 3,067  
 **Chapter 11**  
July 28th 1990. Malfoy Manor.

Draco’s tutor was a bad-tempered man, with thick brown hair and a constant flush to his cheeks. Mr. Jenus Harper seemed to be of the mindset that he was in charge, and anything less than full attention and participation could be punished by smacking Draco across the hand with his wand. Of course the first time he had tried that, Draco had complained to his father. Lucius agreed that Draco should take his studies seriously, but a quite threatening conversation later deterred Harper from using corporal punishment on the Malfoy heir in future. 

Just because Harper didn’t hit Draco any more, didn’t mean he allowed the boy to slack off either. 

A book sailed through the air. The blond child barely ducked it, his arms flying up to protect his face even as he lowered his head to tuck against his chest. Harry watched with wide eyes. 

“That was wrong! Wrong. The correct pronunciation is _Pro-tay-go_. Say it again! What if that had been a spell? What if it had killed you because you are foolish and unable to do as you are instructed? Again, Malfoy.” He pointed his wand forward, and the book flew back at him. He threw the book at Draco’s head again. 

The blond raised his father’s wand and screamed, “ _Protego_ ”, as the book sailed towards his face again. A faint shimmer of light appeared in front of Draco, but the spell wasn’t strong enough and the shield didn’t hold. Draco gave a muffled grunt as the book struck his cheek. He clutched at his face with trembling hands and snarled towards his tutor. “I thought we were meant to be learning first year spells?” 

“Poor, poor boy,” Harper soothed. With a wave of his wand, the red mark on Draco’s cheek vanished. “No ambition whatsoever, have you?” His head snapped around suddenly, eyes narrowing on Harry’s form. Harry, who had already managed to produce a suitably strong shield, was sitting at Draco’s desk writing an essay on the inner hierarchy of Pureblood families. “How far have you gotten, Alfred?” Another wave of his wand summoned the parchment over to him. Harry had been halfway through a sentence, but the tutor just hummed and ignored the long black smudge that ran down the length of the page from the aborted word. 

He began reading to himself, mumbling every now and then. “Yes, well, it’s all very good, but I don’t believe you truly understand a word of it. It all looks like it was copied straight out of a text book.” He rolled up the parchment and levelled his wand at Harry’s face. “For every wrong answer, I’m going to hex you. But don’t worry so much, Mr. Alfred, you’re very good with the shielding charm. Now, who is the Head of the Family?”

Harry swallowed, eyes wide and focused on the wand pointed at his nose. He’d been to a handful of Draco’s lessons before, but mostly Evan and Lucius tutored him themselves when they had free time. But since there was just over a year left before Harry would be leaving for Hogwarts, Lucius had managed to convince Evan that it would be for the best if Harry had some experience of a real tutor. Apparently, they were all as psychotic as Mr. Harper! 

“The Head of the Family is the eldest son living. For example, Draco’s grandfather died in 1984 of Dragonpox. With his death, Lucius became the Head of the Malfoy line. Had Lucius had an older brother, his brother would have become Head, not Lucius.”

Janus narrowed his eyes. “The Heir?”

“The eldest son of the Head of the Family. In the case of my scenario, Draco would be the Heir to the Malfoy Family.” 

“If, say,” here, Harper gave a pause and his eyes flicked over to the door nervously, as if he were afraid Lucius was eavesdropping, “Draco was an Orphan, who would be the Head of the Family?”

“His godfather, until Draco came into his magical maturity at 17. At 17, Professor Snape, as Draco’s godfather, would still be entitled to manage the Malfoy funds but Draco would take over the day-to-day running of the household. At the age of 21, Draco would bare the full responsibility of the Malfoy finances, and Professor Snape would have no more legal obligation to involve himself with the Malfoy line.” 

“And if Draco’s godfather was deceased?”

“His godmother would fulfil the same role. I don’t actually know who his godmother is, but a godparent is carefully chosen at birth. Usually they are close friends of the family, or sometimes the parents of a potential spouse for the child. If the parent dies, the godparent will usually blood adopt the child as their own. This gives the child more security, allowing it a permanent place within the godparent’s family, and it also gives the godparents legal rights over the child after the age of 21. Though it doesn’t affect the running of the child’s familial line or vaults.” 

“Not a bad answer, Alfred. Maybe you do know more than I give you credit for.” Harper rubbed his chin lightly, “I dare say, we’ll make a Ravenclaw of you yet, boy. Next question, who is your godfather? All of your analogies are about Malfoy’s family.”

Harry honestly didn’t know if he had godparents. When he was out in public with Evan, (and not Vernon), and someone was foolish enough to speak to them, Evan always introduced himself as Harry’s godfather. Harry wasn’t shy about telling people his parents were dead: he rather enjoyed the way their faces paled at the revelation. It would teach them not to pry into other peoples’ business, hopefully. Harry had Evan, and he had Lucius, and Draco, who else did he really need?

He let out a small cry of pain. A stinging hex had hit him firmly on the jaw. “Let’s try again, who is your godfather? With every wrong answer I hex you.” Mr. Harper warned lightly, twirling his wand between his fingers. 

Harry didn’t know the answer, but he still allowed his lips to pull up into a smirk. When the wand aimed at him again, he was ready. “ _Protego_ ,” he shouted. A shield sprang up around him, reflected in the hex back at Janus, who clapped wildly after he reflected the spell again. 

“Bravo.” The man praised, completely forgetting about his pop-quiz. “That was an impressive display Mr. Alfred. You were very fast, very clear pronunciation, good wand work. I dare say I’m… pleased with you. Now get out of here. Both of you. Our lessons are over for the day. Malfoy!” He shouted suddenly, stopping the boys in the threshold of the room. “Pay attention to him. You might learn something.” 

The boys left. Draco had a rather unpleasant scowl on his face, and his nose was upturned in indignation. “I do not like him, not one bit!”

“Nor do I,” Harry muttered grumpily. Harper hadn’t even bothered to heal the mark on his jaw. That stinging hex had hurt. 

“Yes, well, he likes you a fair bit more than he likes me. It isn’t fair. He’s my tutor. He should like me more!” Draco whinged, crossing his arms over his chest, and glaring petulantly back in the direction they had come. 

“That’s probably why, you know, Draco. He gets paid to teach you, and ‘motivate’ you and be mean. He’s just being mean to me for fun, in his free time. But because he is getting money to be mean to you, he’s meaner more often.” 

“Your vocabulary is atrocious, Potter.” The blond sneered, ignoring as Harry scowled. 

_XXX_

November 23rd 1990. Little Whinging. 

Vernon Dursley smirked to himself as he watched his _beloved_ wife rush around their kitchen. Harry sat at the dining table beside him, reading one of his schoolbooks, and taking notes. Evan rolled his eyes at the child’s studious behaviour. It was nothing to discourage, after all. But there were times when the boy really should just relax and enjoy his time outside of learning. And this was one of those times. Evan dearly enjoyed every opportunity afforded to him to torment the remaining Dursleys. 

Harry had refused to allow Evan to actually torture them. The boy had claimed it made them no better than Vernon had been, that it could actually make them worse than Vernon because they should know better. And it wasn’t Harry’s argument that stilled Evan’s wand, but rather the pleading look on his face and the way those green eyes watered. 

“Petunia, dear, hurry on.” Vernon snapped. “Harry’s going to be late for school if you keep on as you are. Honestly woman, anyone would think there was something the matter with you, the way your hobbling around the place like an invalid. Are you unhappy, Pet? Would you rather be someplace else?” Evan didn’t wait for an answer. He scowled at his plate as she scrapped some scrambled eggs onto it off of the pan. They were burnt on the bottom, but Evan could probably eat around it if he wanted to. 

He didn’t want to. He wanted to cause a fuss, just like Vernon and Petunia had done every morning they found fault with Harry’s cooking. Harry’s eggs had never been burnt, not since he passed the age of six and could actually see over the stove. Harry’s eggs had been delicious, and they didn’t have bits of shell in them. Evan picked out a piece of the shell and flicked it in Dudley’s direction with a sneer. How dare they find fault with Harry, when their efforts were so much worse?

“What is this?”

“E-eggs, dear?” Petunia stuttered. She put the pan down and started wringing her hands together nervously. 

“They’re burnt.” He said, his voice low and cold. 

“I know. But they aren’t that badly burnt and Dudley needed me for something. I was only gone for a moment, and anyway the boy was here the entire time and didn’t turn them off or-” A hand suddenly flew towards her. The impact of it against her jaw stopped her mid-sentence, and she crumpled to the floor as pain flooded through her. She clutched her face, shoulders heaving as she began to sob, hunched over on herself. 

Petunia hadn’t seemed to learn in the past two years, that the Vernon she knew and loved was never coming back. The woman was obtuse and stubborn but she made life interesting for Evan. There were months at a time when she cowed before him and treated Harry kindly out of fear of her ‘husband’. And then there were moments like this one, where she suddenly reverted back to her old self. Forgetting about the last years of her life and imagining that when she insulted Harry, Vernon would agree with her. It was easy for Evan to remind her of course. He wasn’t a nice man. Harry was against torturing them, and against hurting Dudley because he was the same age as Harry and technically it hadn’t even been the boy’s fault his parents brainwashed him. But Evan had no scruples against striking out at a woman who knowingly tormented and abused her sister’s child. A Wizard child. 

Evan’s child. 

Dudley sat stiffly in his chair, hands shaking in his lap. He refused to face his mother. He kept his face lowered to hide the tears that were forming, because he understood that his dad was different, and this version of his father wouldn’t hesitate to belittle him for crying. 

Evan sought pleasure in whatever he could while at the Dursleys’ house. 

“Now, get off of the floor, Pet, and make some more eggs. Hurry now. You wouldn’t want my boys to be late to school, would you? And don’t you have work in an hour?” 

When Vernon had been fired from his job at Grunnings, it had had the cataclysmic affect of Vernon attempting to rape Harry, and of Evan strangling Vernon as Harry watched. Since it was actually Evan’s phone call to Director Mason that had led to Vernon’s sacking, Evan didn’t see why it was necessary to come crawling back looking for a job he didn’t want. He had money. And Harry had money. Evan’s name was on Harry’s adoption certificate, so he was legally Harry’s Muggle guardian now. He was obligated to pay for anything Harry needed, and he was happy to. But why should he pay for Petunia or Dudley, when both of them had been content for years to let Harry go without?

If they wanted to eat, let her buy the food. 

If Dudley wanted new clothes, Petunia was welcome to earn the money for a shopping trip. She had never worked before Vernon’s death, but Rosier thought it was about time she got a job. 

He had found her the most humiliating one he could possibly think of. She was waitressing in a small café in the centre of Little Whinging. All day, while at work, she was subject to her neighbours’ stares and she could overhear them whispering about her and see them pointing at her and laughing. And every evening she came home, flushed and red eyed with half-moon marks on her palms from her desperate attempts to calm herself down. 

Evan took great amusement in coming to the café and making her serve him. And in returning food that he wasn’t satisfied with and ordering again. The whispers always increased in fervour when he brought ‘the freak’ with him. 

“Well? I’m waiting for my eggs! You and Dudley can have the burnt ones.” Dudley didn’t dare to complain. The way Evan was drumming his fingers on the table made Dudley swallow convulsively and shrink away from the same hand that had just struck his mother. Petunia scrambled to her feet and rushed to the fridge. She grabbed three eggs and set to work silently. Harry looked up, his forehead creasing as he watched his aunt’s hands shake as she cooked. 

Evan’s hand closed around one of Harry’s hands. Evan’s knuckles were red, and Harry knew why. He hadn’t been looking, but he had heard the crunching sound as the knuckles met with Petunia’s jaw. The woman would be finding it painful to talk for a few days, at least. Harry pitied her. But he hated her more than he could ever imagine loving her, so he pushed away the stirrings of guilt within him. He hadn’t hit her. And it wasn’t like she didn’t deserve it anyway. Harry, himself, had received much worse for much smaller transgressions. 

He pulled his hands out from under Evan’s and laid it on top. He squeezed the hand within his own tightly, holding on for a moment before letting go and losing himself in his book. When his eggs were served, Harry wasn’t hungry enough to eat them. 

_XXX_

July 18th 1991. Little Whinging.1 

Harry was asleep when the post came. He had never much liked the post, because nothing ever came for him. The only thing he had ever received through the front door of Number 4 was a birthday card, which soon ended up in the fire thanks to Vernon. Evan though he was living with Evan now, Harry still received no post. If someone wanted to contact him, they sent an owl. There were no Muggles that Harry wished to speak with anyway.

The children from school sometimes came to talk to Dudley, or mailed him birthday invitations. But Harry had made it clear that he wouldn’t accept the invitations even if he received them. Evan had to let Dudley go. It would be suspicious to do otherwise. Just because the man had suddenly had a change of heart regarding his nephew didn’t mean he was likely to lose all affection for his only son and forbid him to socialize. It would have been more fun to lock Dudley in the cupboard under the stairs and refuse to let him have friends, but it wasn’t practical. And Dudley didn’t fit in the cupboard anyway. 

After Vernon’s death, Evan made it clear to Dudley that no one was to terrorize Harry in school anymore. And though some of the children had tried to be Harry’s friends when Dudley’s Gang had back off, Harry wasn’t interested. Those children had helped make his childhood hell. They were weak and spineless and refused to stand up for him or themselves against a handful of other children. It was sickening to even think about wanting to be friends with people like that. The very idea of allowing fickle, traitorous children into his life made him cringe. He had Draco. He didn’t need any of those filthy Muggles!

Harry could hear the postman shoving the letters through his door. Dudley was probably still in bed, but he could hear Petunia moving around downstairs. She would get the letters, Harry knew. Beside him, Evan stretched his arms above his head with a yawn. He really didn’t like sharing a bed with Petunia, and he refused to go back to sleeping in the basement now that he had his run of the house. Harry was small enough still that sharing a bed wasn’t difficult at all. It was actually rather comfortable to curl up next to Evan, or hug the man to him after a nightmare, or revel in the familiar warmth beside him. 

It would be hell though, at Hogwarts, trying to get used to sleeping alone again after more than two years. 

A scream rang through the house. Dudley was awake instantly, and Harry giggled as he heard the boy roll out of the bed with a thump. Evan didn’t move an inch. His arm came down to rest around Harry’s shoulders and he grinned. “It came early,” Evan commented softly, when the Muggle finally stopped screaming. 

“What came early?” Harry questioned, sitting up in the bed. Something had come in the post for him? 

“Your Hogwarts letter, Caen.” The Death Eater smiled widely to himself. He watched Harry tare from the room in his pyjamas, and he continued to lie on the bed, arms folded beneath his head as Harry’s excited mutterings drifted back up the stairs to him. Harry would be off to Hogwarts soon. 

Soon. It wouldn’t be much longer. But soon, the Dark Lord would return. 

**XXX**


	13. Chapter 12

We have officially sent out all invitations to the First Years to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. On behalf of the staff I welcome you to our place of learning, and must remind you once again that the Forbidden Forest is simply that, forbidden! And also, that this is AU and Voldemort does not return until during Fourth Year. 

**Words:** 4,102  
 **Chapter 12**  
1 August 19th 1991. The Leaky Cauldron.

The Leaky Cauldron was packed to the rafters. Evan had warned him that the Alley would be busy, but Harry had never imagined that this many people could ever fit in one place. Behind him, Vernon Dursley stumbled out of the fireplace. He coughed and sputtered, and Harry could hear him muttering about ‘freaks’ and the like. He had to fight to hide his smile, because Professor Snape had suddenly whirled around and fixed Harry and his uncle each with equally vicious glares. 

“Our kind do not appreciate being called _freaks_ , Muggle. You would do well to remember that when among us.” Snape’s voice was soft and low, but Harry could hear the anger that the man had carefully hidden. White knuckled, fingers clenched around his wand, Snape led the way through the packed Pub, not bothering to check if the other two were able to keep up. 

Snape had appeared at Number 4 four days after Evan had sent a reply accepting Harry’s place at Hogwarts. Because Harry was supposed to have been raised as a Muggle, Snape was expected to explain everything necessary to him. The dour man would have preferred to have swapped places with Minerva, but she had been adamant that Severus be the one to visit Lily’s son. Snape had returned that morning and informed them that their fireplace had been temporarily linked up to the Floo network before shoving Harry through it. 

“Horrible man,” Harry whispered to Evan. The elder man grabbed Harry by the arm and dragged him through the crowd, unceremoniously pushing and shouldering the other people out of his way. Harry didn’t have a wand, (his Yew training wand was safely hidden at Number 4), and Evan couldn’t very well use his while Polyjuiced as a Muggle, and neither of them would put it passed Snape to enter Diagon Alley without them. 

They were almost to the door that led to the Alley when a man reached over and grabbed onto Harry’s shoulder. The boy stopped moving, and Evan had no choice but to stop with him. “Harry Potter, bless my soul!” 

The man was tall, with dark hair and eyes and dressed in long purple robes. He reached out to take Harry’s hand, pumping it enthusiastically with a wide smile on his face. “I’m so very pleased to meet you, Harry. This will be your first year, won’t it? I’m so glad you’re coming this year, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to meet you. You see, I’m going on sabbatical next year. I’m heading off to Albania to study Vampires! I was supposed to go the year before last, but I had a problem with my funds.2 And last year a cousin of mine died and it wouldn’t of been proper to leave the country so soon after, but I’ll definitely go this year. It’s so good to finally meet you!” 

Harry watched with wide eyes. Evan was smirking softly behind him, and Harry could almost feel the other Wizard’s amusement at the situation. Unsure of what to say in response, Harry smiled and merely said, “hello.” 

“Bless me!” The man in purple said, “Harry Potter spoke to me!”

“That is enough Quirinus!” Snape’s voice said. Harry whirled around, and sure enough there the man was, striding back towards them, looking like a giant angry bat. His robes snapped around his feet as he moved, and his hand was still clenched around his wand. “The boy will have a big enough head without you adding to it. Show some decorum, for Merlin’s sake.” He gave the man a glare before turning to face Harry. “This is Professor Quirrell. He will be teaching you Defence Against the Dark Arts,” he turned away from them, heading back towards the door, still talking, “assuming he can pry his head out of your arse long enough, Potter. This way, hurry.”

Evan’s hand was on his shoulder now, steering him away from the still excited Professor, and successfully avoiding encounters with the numerous other Witches and Wizards climbing over one another to shake hands with the Boy-Who-Lived. 

“Well that was weird,” Harry said once Snape had let them into the Alley. 

Snape had been a little disappointed that Harry hadn’t looked more excited as the bricks moved away from themselves, creating a doorway, but then again Snape didn’t know that Harry had been here before. The Potions Professor was happy to show off his bad mood by snarling in the direction of a handful of red headed children who happened to bump into him on the street. “Hurry, Potter. I haven’t all day!”

They followed Snape to the bookstore. **Flourish & Blotts** was one of Harry’s favourite shops in Diagon Alley. There were so many books there, available to him, practically begging him to buy them all. The Goblin’s had happily provided him with a second key to his vault in exchange for a vial of his blood. They said it was for proof that he was who he said it was, but Evan had muttered something derogatory about the Goblin’s and some word Harry didn’t know the meaning of, and the boy had decided that maybe donating blood hadn’t of been such a good idea. 

“Why aren’t we going to Gringotts?” Harry whispered, leaning closer to Evan. 

Snape turned towards them and noticed them both staring at the imposing white marble building that was the Wizarding bank. “I took the liberty of collecting some funds from the bank already. Hogwarts is accustomed to paying for those who cannot afford to pay for themselves.” Coming from anyone else, the statement would have seemed generous and kind. But the way Snape spat the words out made Harry cringe away from him, and left him feeling worthless and _poor_. He hadn’t felt that way in some time, not since before he had found Evan. 

“But I have money,” he whispered, his bottom lip trembling. 

“Your vault key was left in the possession of Headmaster Dumbledore for safe keeping. When he attempted to hand the key to me, for the purpose of this visit, but the key kept disappearing from my pocket. The Goblins have since informed us that the Headmaster is no longer entitled to have access to your funds or your key. As such, Hogwarts will pay for you, and you will pay Hogwarts back.”

“Why would you have access to his money?” Evan asked. Vernon’s fat face was scrunched up in anger; the thought that anyone would dare take what rightfully belonged to Harry left a sick feeling in his stomach. 

“For the purposes of procuring the necessary tuition and boarding costs that accrue over a year at Hogwarts. Without parents to take care of such things for you, Hogwarts takes those matters into her own hands.” His hand was on Harry’s back now, and Snape gave a push, ushering Harry through the doors of the bookshop. “I trust you brought your supplies list with you. It would be a shame for you to fail the year because your brain was unable to comprehend that it would be prudent to bring your _supply_ list with you when you went to purchase you school _supplies_.”

Harry rolled his eyes but allowed Snape to guide him into the bookstore. The moment they had passed through the threshold of the building, Harry sprang away from Snape’s hand, walking quickly in the direction of the darker books. He froze suddenly, remembering that he was being accompanied by a Hogwarts Professor, and turned around. He looked at Snape with wide, innocent eyes. “You don’t happen to know which directions the Schools books are in?”

Snape merely pointed in the direction opposite to where Harry had originally been going. With a scowl, the boy walked away from the books he really wanted to browse. They were in the bookshop for almost an hour, the queues were out of the doors, and tempers were starting to flare. During this time, Evan had disappeared. He had gone to Gringotts with Harry’s key, and he returned in time to hand over _Harry’s_ money to the cashier. 

Snape froze, hand already outstretched with his moneybag dangling from his fingers. He turned to stare at the Muggle, eyebrows furrowed. “Where did you get that?”

“You are well aware that Harry’s parents left him with a considerable sum of money to his name. As his uncle it’s my job to make sure freaks like you do not attempt to cheat him out of what is rightfully his. When I replied to his Hogwarts letter, I also wrote to the bank. They were happy,” Harry gave a soft snort from beside them, “to provide me with a new key.”

Evan placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, shooting a smug look at Severus as he began to lead the boy from the store. Harry held onto the handle of the bag with one hand and the other hand was clenched around the pouch of money Evan had handed him. Snape gave a growl, and moved to sweep passed them. Harry jumped to the side to avoid being knocked over by the Potions Master, and inadvertently bumped into whoever was waiting behind him in the queue. The girl gave a startled gasp and Harry jumped forward in surprise, as a mountain of books seemed to land around his feet. 

“Oh I’m so sorry!” The girl said, immediately dropping to her knees to collect the fallen books. “I shouldn’t of dropped things on you. But you should have been watching where you were stepping.”

Harry bent down to help her. He handed her two books before stopping, his brain finally processing her words. He had just been scolded, and apologized to, in the one sentence? Harry raised an eyebrow at her, a small smile tugging on his lips as he held out his hand to her. She took hold of it and allowed Harry to help her to her feet. “My sincerest apologize, miss. I really should have exercised a greater degree of care. But you see, this will be my first year and I have never seen the Alley so busy before. It’s a little disconcerting. You will have to forgive me, just this once.” He offered her a smile, and a nod of his head, before he took a step backwards. 

Evan was watching her parents with narrowed eyes. The two of them were huddled together beside the cash desk, both so obviously Muggle that Harry felt sorry for how awkward they looked amidst all of the Wizards and Witches. He turned back to Evan and gave the man a warm smile, “ready to go?” 

Before they could walk away, the Muggleborn dived forward and grabbed hold of Harry’s arm. He was Harry Potter, the boy that the rest of the shop had been stealing covert glances of and desperately tilting their heads this way and that way trying to catch a glimpse of his scar. None of them had been brave enough to approach him, nor even dared briefly reach out and touch him with the large Muggle and Professor Snape flanking him. But this girl, this _Mudblood_ in some people’s opinions, had dared to grab the Boy-Who-lived? Hermione ignored the shocked gasps that suddenly surrounded her. She didn’t know what she had done was wrong. What she did know was that she was new to this world, and that this boy obviously wasn’t, and she had never really had any friends. She felt it was time to start making some. 

“My name is Hermione Granger. This is my first year too, so it was nice to meet someone who will soon become my peer.” She held her hand out for him to shake, and Harry watched her with a soft smile, noticing how her fingers trembled harder the longer he left her hand unshaken. 

He reached out and squeezed her wrist before bringing her hand up for a light kiss. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Granger. Would that be Hermione, like Hermione from **The Winter’s Tale**?” He asked with a grin.3

Her smile widened, and Harry caught a glimpse of overly large front teeth before her expression blanked out. “Yes it is actually.” She was obviously pleased that he had caught the Shakespearian reference, but was now steeling herself for his teasing. He didn’t say anything for or against the name. Personally he thought it was a terrible name to give a child, but then again, Draco’s grandfather was called _Abraxas_. What a horrible name! 

He turned away from her, hooked his arm with Evan’s and began to walk out of the store. She watched him go, slightly unsure whether their first meeting had been a good one or not. She smiled over at her parents quickly, and hurried to rejoin the queue that had moved on without her. She hadn’t gotten his name, but he seemed a lot nicer than the blond boy from **Madam Malkin’s** had. He seemed like an awfully spoilt child, and he kept calling her some horrid name that she was certain meant something derogatory. Professor McGonagall had left her alone in the store while she gave her parents a quick tour and Hermione had never been more pleased to see a teacher before than she was when McGonagall came back to rescue her from Draco Malfoy. 

_XXX_

August 19th 1991. Knockturn Alley.

They had managed to lose Snape after about three hours. Personally, Harry thought it was less to do with Evan’s continued escape manoeuvres and more to do with Snape not really being arsed to deal with some kid he obviously hated, but he was happy to let Evan believe what he wanted. 

The Death Eater smirked at him, “told you I could get rid of him.”

“Sure, Uncle. Of course,” Harry acquiesced generously. “You’re brilliant.” 

Evan ignored the heavy sarcasm in favour of looking suspiciously up the street and then down the street before tugging Harry into an Alley that ran off of Diagon Alley. The darker half of the shopping district seemed to fold around Harry as he walked along its cobbled path. The shadows clung to him (it seemed to get darker the further along they walked), the hags took steps away from him, eyes wide, and people actually _bowed_ as he walked passed them. 

Though, disappointingly, it wasn’t because he had done anything special. Those people all greeted Evan by name, his real name, and it was clear that they were _associates_ of his. Knockturn Alley was somewhere that Harry hadn’t been to in a while, but he had sort of missed the place. Sure it was creepy as hell, but no one was staring at him in awe, or reaching out to pet him, or trying to take photos of him without him noticing (though, obviously, he noticed or he wouldn’t of complained to Evan about them). 

Evan opened the door to **Borgin & Burkes**, allowing Harry to enter first before he followed his child inside. There were two people already in the shop, conversing with one of the owners, while a third person lingered behind his father warily. The youngest turned around as the chime over the door went off. 

“Harry!” He called, waving the brunette over. Evan and Lucius both narrowed their eyes at the familiarity of Draco’s behaviour. But their worry wasn’t warranted; because Draco did the same thing that everyone else had been doing all day. “You’re Harry Potter! Did you know you’re famous and rich? The name’s Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. I’m rich too, you know. So we should be friends.” He held his hand out to Harry, who grabbed hold of the small, pale hand and shook it. 

“Are you famous as well?” Harry asked with a sly grin. 

“Infamous, actually.” They grinned at each other; the very picture of friendship, but by now they had lost the attention of the three adults. 

Lucius and his friend, who was also a Death Eater, went back to conversing with Mr Borgin, and Evan calmly browsed the shelves, ignoring the vicious looks Walden Macnair kept shooting him. “Why are you here, Muggle?” Macnair asked with a sneer. Evan ignored him, his fingers lightly skimming over the cover of a book he was considering getting Harry for Yule. “Answer me, you filthy Muggle bastard.” A wand was levelled at Evan, and the man merely allowed his lips to curl into a smirk. 

In the blink of an eye, Evan had his own wand pointed between Walden’s eyes. With a whispered, “ _Crucio_ ”, the other Wizard dropped to the ground and began to scream. 

“I’ve missed this, Walden.” Evan drawled, twirling his wand between his forefingers. “It’s been a long time since we’ve played a game.” Harry moved to stand at his side, and Evan allowed the fingers of his free hand to bite into the child’s shoulder. His knuckles were white by the time he cancelled the curse. 

Macnair continued to lie on the floor, panting heavily, but he looked up at the other Wizard through slitted eyes. “So the rumours are true.” He wheezed, stopping to cough for a moment, before speaking again. “Welcome back, Rosier. You’ve let yourself go.” His eyes travelled over the Muggle’s bulky frame and he let out a snort of amusement. “You were so much prettier before.”4

“ _Crucio_ ,” Evan said lazily, tuning out the man’s screams with ease.

Draco had gone slightly green in the face, and he was pressed as close to his father’s side as it was possible for him to get. Mr. Borgin was watching worriedly, hands twisting nervously in front of his chest and he had backed up against the door to the storeroom, probably trying to escape into the other room. Harry and Lucius were watching Macnair writhe with similar looks of interest on their faces. Evan gave an amused snort, as Lucius’ eyes moved to land on Harry and a barely noticeable smile appeared on the Malfoy Lord’s face. 

“Hello Mr. Potter. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Lucius drawled. He stayed standing where he was for Draco’s sake, but Harry moved towards him, a hand outstretched. 

Lucius took the hand, as he always did, and brought it to his mouth for a kiss. “The pleasure is all mine,” Harry whispered back to him. Lucius’ mouth lingered against the back of Harry’s hand just a little bit too long before Lucius reluctantly let him go, his grey eyes narrowing as he starred at the child before him. 

What was it about Harry that had him so greatly affected? The boy was pleasing to look at, and once he was older he would most definitely be attractive, but Lucius didn’t lust after Harry as he was now. There was something else, something deeper and darker drawing the blond in, and he was sure he should already know what it was, but the thought of it just kept escaping his mind, flitting out of reach should he ever grasp for it. He had been similarly entranced by his Lord on their first meeting, and for many meetings after that one. But surely, Harry’s magic wasn’t as dark as Voldemort’s! Not yet at least. But, perhaps, like Evan, Lucius could feel the _Horcrux_? It would explain his unnatural fascination with a child his own son’s age, Lucius thought to himself with a frown. And it would help him sleep better at night as well. 

By the time the blond came back to himself, Macnair was on his feet again. Walden was trembling terribly, but he was standing unaided. His eyes flicked between Evan and Harry, and Harry and Lucius, and back again, before settling on Evan. “This never happened.”

“You saw nothing,” Evan agreed, a cold smile sliding across his mouth. Harry stood tensely at his side, face blank. “Come, child. It’s time to go now.” He suddenly pointed to the shelf he had been looking at before he started torturing the other Death Eater, “save that one. I’ll collect it during the week.”

They left the store in silence. 

They didn’t speak again until they came out of the fireplace in Number 4. 

“Was that really necessary, Evan?” Harry asked with a scowl. “How do you know he won’t just run off and tell people that I’m being shown around Diagon Alley with a pretend Muggle, who is really a Death Eater who faked his death, and used two Unforgivables in the space of five minutes?”

“He is one of us. The Dark Lord was very good at persuading people that what happens in private should remain private. Those who run their mouths off never survive for long within the Dark Lord’s ranks.” 

He stormed from the room, and Harry watched him go with a sigh. The door closed behind Evan just as the Polyjuice began to wear off. 

_XXX_

5 August 21st 1991. Little Whinging. 

They lay in the bed together, Harry pressed lightly against Evan’s side as the elder man untied a letter from the leg of an owl. The owl hooted once its burden was freed and it flew back out of the window it had entered through. Dudley’s second bedroom was small compared to the room Evan had had as a child, but it was better than the cupboard Harry had previously been forced to sleep in. Evan didn’t really see the point in forcing Petunia to swap room with Harry. Harry was going to Hogwarts in less than a fortnight, and Evan had absolutely no desire to sleep alone in the room Dudley Dursley had been conceived in. 

“It seems you’ve made an impression.” Evan drawled, fighting back the urge to laugh. 

“What?” Harry asked, leaning up to pluck the letter from Evan’s long-fingered hand. Brown hair hung over brown eyes as the Death Eater flopped his head back onto the pillow, allowing Harry to read his letter in peace. 

The front of the envelope, which was Muggle in nature, read:   
_To The Boy Who Picked Up My Books,  
In, Flourish & Blotts Bookshop  
On August 19th _. 

With a small from on his face, Harry tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter. “Hello,” he read out loud, “you probably don’t remember me, but my name is Hermione Granger and we ran into each other in the bookshop in Diagon Alley. Unfortunately I didn’t get your name and I felt incredibly rude for allowing you to leave without fully acquainting myself with you. I asked in the store if there was a way I could reach you, and they told me to owl post you. Of course I don’t have an owl, but they allow you to rent one for a charge at the pet shop close to where we met. My parents said I was too young to actually get a pet, otherwise I would have asked for an owl for my birthday. It’s in September, by the way. 

“That was really all I wanted to say. Oh, I didn’t know your address either, but I was assured that the owl would reach you. Please inform me if you receive this letter. I’ve included my address and phone number on the back, and am dearly looking forward to hearing from you. I can’t wait to see you again, but hopefully by then I’ll already know your name. I was reading Hogwarts: A History, and I really have to recommend it to you. I didn’t see it among your purchases at the bookstore, but it really is an interesting read. I’m rather hoping to end up in Ravenclaw, but I suppose we’ll see.” 

Harry had read **Hogwarts: A History** when he was nine-years-old, so of course he didn’t buy it just before his first year. He turned into Evan’s side and lay down, his face pressed to the Wizard’s chest. 

“Ravenclaw, huh?” Harry said at last. 

“It looks like you’re going to have to tell her your name at least. Apparently, you’re going to be spending seven years together, and then who knows. You might even get married and have babies.” Evan’s eyes were closed, but Harry knew they were twinkling in amusement behind his eyelids. 

“Don’t,” he scolded, smacking Evan’s chest lightly, “even joke about things like that. I’m too young for babies, and she has horribly bushy hair anyway.”

“And you’re so short.” Evan suddenly said, cracking open one eye to take in Harry’s reaction. “You’re children will probably look like Cousin It.”6 

Harry didn’t dignify that comment with a response. He just hit Evan harder this time. 

**XXX**

 

1 – Happy birthday to my friend, Victoria. Not that she’ll ever read this lol.   
2 – Quirrell didn’t meet Voldemort the year before Harry started Hogwarts. It was at least two years before that. See HP-Lexicon.   
3 – J.K. chose the name from Shakespeare’s play because she felt that as Dentists, Hermione’s parents would chose a name that sounded clever and unique. I’m not sure if I want Hermione and Harry to be friends, because Hermione will stay Light and Harry will be Dark, but they can certainly be acquaintances for now.  
4 – Rosier, according to A Dictionary Of Angels by Gustav Davidson, is “a former lesser-rank angel of the order of dominations, now officiating in Hell”. He is considered the patron demon of tainted love and seduction, especially noted for assuming a human form of great physical beauty. Evan is particularly handsome in his natural form, much like Lucius is considered, both being Purebred aristocracy.   
5 – Happy birthday to my friend, Lisa. Lol.  
6 – Cousin It, from The Adam’s Family. Literally, completely covered with hair the colour of Hermione’s, and he isn’t that tall either.


	14. Chapter 13

**Words:** 4,021  
 **Chapter 13**  
September 1st 1991. King’s Cross Station. 

It was a little strange that Harry was only ever seen with his uncle. Evan usually didn’t mind if the child went off by himself, but whenever they ventured into the Wizarding World, Evan went with him. Petunia never did. And that was hardly the way to go about convincing people like Dumbledore that Harry was still a member of a ‘normal’, ‘ordinary’ Muggle family. Petunia and Vernon had hardly ever disagreed, while Vernon had been alive. But now, after his death, Evan’s opinions were so different to his wife’s that the two were barely near each other, unless Evan was in the mood to humiliate her. 

As it was, he had to bring Harry to platform 9 and ¾. And he had made Petunia come with him. She had protested of course, claiming she needed to get Dudley to his own school on time, but Evan had insisted that Harry’s boarding school was much more important than Dudley’s _state_ school. Petunia hadn’t been able to afford to send her only son to Smelting’s private school. 

There entire family was there. Dudley, trembling with fear, pressed against his mother’s side to shield himself from the magical people. Petunia, cradling her swelling right cheek with one hand, the other arm wrapped around her son’s large shoulders as she glared defiantly at anyone who looked down their nose at her. Harry and Vernon stood side by side, both smiling softly at the bright red steam train that was docked in the station. Petunia and Dudley had been able to get through the barrier when one of the others was touching them. Evan was going to have to take them out one by one, since Harry wouldn’t be leaving with them. 

“It’s amazing,” Harry breathed. His trunk had a ‘featherlite charm’ on it, and he was able to lift it up easily. 

Evan pulled him into a brief hug, his fingers clenching on Harry’s shoulders, before he pushed the child away. His jaw was clenched, and while Harry was way too excited about going to Hogwarts to be sad right then, he knew Evan was upset at his leaving. 

“It’s ok. I’ll be home for Christmas. And I’m sure you can find a way to see me, right?” Harry’s eyes had widened hopefully, and it pulled a smile onto Evan’s mouth. 

“I will definitely come to see you, Caen.” He took a deep breath. Over Harry’s shoulders, he spotted the Malfoy family making there way towards one of the train carriages. He nodded his head at them, and Draco waved back. “Now, onto the train with you, else it’s going to go without you.”

Harry snorted. “Now that just won’t do.”

“It certainly won’t. Goodbye, child.” The man moved away from Harry then, coming to stand beside the Muggles. He raised his hand slightly, imitating a wave, and Harry copied the gesture. Harry offered one more smile, and turned on his heels. He walked towards Draco, dragging his trunk behind him, though he did throw another grin over his shoulder at Evan as he boarded the train. 

“Write to me!” Harry shouted through the window of the compartment he and Draco were sitting in. The train began to pull away, gaining speed with every second. Harry watched his aunt’s face screw up in distaste as he passed her. He watched her mouth carefully, frowning as he made out the words. 

“Good riddance.” She hissed. 

Evan tensed beside her. A hand clamped around her throat, fierce tight and painful, and he squeezed until she began to release horrible gasping breathes, wheezing and fighting to breathe. He let her go, his face a cold mask of anger, before he turned away from her completely and continued to watch the Hogwarts Express take his son out of sight. 

_XXX_

Draco sat with his back pressed to the wall, and his legs stretched out over the seat. Harry sat opposite him, around the other side of the small table that separated them, but he sat properly, with his feet on the floor and his back against the back of the chair. Draco rolled his eyes and gave a small chuckle at Harry’s pointed stare. 

“Oh relax. There isn’t anyone sitting there, or wanting to sit there, so obviously it’s ok for me to take up both seats. And anyway, I’m far more important than anyone else on the train.”

“What’s your point?” Harry asked with a small smile. He always found Draco’s antics amusing, even when the boy was being seriously self-centric. 

“Therefore,” he drawled, “I have more right to put my feet on that chair, than anyone else does to sit on it. This conversation is over, Potter,” Draco added loudly, just as Harry opened his mouth again. The brunette’s mouth snapped closed, a frown spreading across it, before he rolled his eyes and let it pass. 

“Whatever, Malfoy.” He answered lightly. 

Draco pulled out a pack of Exploding Snap cards from a pocket inside his cloak and slid them across the table towards Harry. “How about it?” When Harry nodded, Draco grabbed the pack back, and opened it. He shuffled the cards, and was just about to start dealing them when the compartment door slammed open. 

A gangly looking boy with red hair and no shortage of freckles stood in the doorway looking sheepish. “Sorry about that. Didn’t realize I pushed so hard.” He dragged his trunk into the compartment, and he seemed to be struggling with it, but neither Harry nor Draco stood to lend him assistance. “You mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full.” He didn’t wait for an answer before he lifted the trunk up, arms wobbling precariously, as he tried to shove it onto the rack above Harry’s head. 

The brunette’s eyes were wide as he watched. He shifted across the seat, pressing himself against the window, just in case the redhead dropped the trunk onto the seat where he had been sitting. Draco was watching it all with great amusement. Still sprawled out across the seat, his grey eyes sparkled as he watched the boy struggle with the heavy trunk. 

“I could cast a featherlite for you,” he offered amiably. The redhead turned to offer him a smile, almost dropping the trunk at the same time. Draco let out a soft snort, “but I won’t.” 

He started dealing the cards, handing Harry’s half towards him and keeping his own. He turned over a card first, waiting for Harry, and then he played again. The boy had stowed his trunk by this point and was looking between the two empty seats. He was obviously not very bright, because he swept around to the other side of the table and smacked Draco’s legs down off of the seat.

“I’m Ron-” He started but a snarl from Draco stopped him. 

“Red hair, freckles, hand me down clothes. You must be a Weasley. My father told me all about you.” The blond kicked out his legs, swinging them back onto the seat and pushing Ron onto the floor. “And you so clearly do not have any manners. Disgraceful, it is, that they let your kind into Hogwarts!” 

Ron’s face had gone red and blotchy with anger, and he opened his mouth to say something back to Draco, but then heard Harry’s attempt to abort his laughter. He whirled around angrily, sneering at Harry. “What’s so funny, Mudblood?” Harry raised an eyebrow at the insult, and Draco narrowed his eyes, indignant on Harry’s behalf. “You think it’s funny that I’m poor and have a lot of siblings? Do you? Well at least I come from a Magical family! More than you can say, huh? Bloody hell, I saw those ugly Muggles with you at the train station, and I saw Snape showing you around Diagon Alley.” Ron tugged at the hem of his sleeve nervously. It was tattered, and there were patches sewn over the elbows. The robe was a few inches too short for the boy as well, and obviously a hand-me-down. 

Once upon a time, Harry would have had so much in common with the rude redhead. But that was before Evan killed his uncle. And before Ron had thoughtlessly insulted both Evan and his mother in one sentence. People who didn’t think before they spoke deserved to suffer the consequences their words brought upon them. What was it Evan had once said to him? My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: words without thoughts never to heaven go.1 Shakespeare had possible wrote that line with a Weasley in mind, Harry thought snidely. 

“Do you have a problem with Muggleborns?” Harry asked softly, not at all affronted for himself. “I thought that was a Slytherin prejudice? No offence Draco.”

“I- uh, no?” Ron said ineloquently. 

The blond suddenly butted in, “and for your information, that, is Harry Potter!” Draco pointed at him, waving his arms to emphasise the name, and he had the biggest shit-eating grin ever on his face. 

Ron’s face paled as fast as it had reddened. In comparison to how red it had been, the paleness made Ron look rather like an Inferi. Harry watched him warily, waiting for some extreme reaction, either hatred or adoration. But the boy merely nodded slowly, trying to process the information, and then suddenly his eyes widened comically. He reached out a hand towards Harry. “Harry, mate, why didn’t you say so?” 

Harry didn’t take the hand, so Ron moved to sit beside Harry. The brunette frowned. He was sitting by the window, which left one seat open by the aisle, but as Ron came nearer, Harry slid right across the seat until he was sitting on the edge and there was no room for the redhead. 

“You wouldn’t want to sit next to a Mudblood, would you?” Harry asked slowly, an eyebrow rose as he tapped the fingers of one hand slowly against the table. Ron sputtered for a moment, his eyes darting back to the other chair where Draco had kicked him away and then up to his trunk. He turned then, left the trunk there, and left the compartment completely. “My mother was Muggleborn, you know.”

“I know,” Draco said softly. He played lightly with his set of cards. 

“Do you have a problem with it?”

“It’s your turn, Potter. Lay a card already.” Harry overturned one of his cards and placed it on top of the small pile in the centre of the table. Draco’s hand closed over the pile, and he shouted, “snap,” before it could explode. 

“And I obviously have no problem with your parentage, idiot,” he added fondly, before he began to deal for a new game. 

_XXX_

September 1st 1991. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The train slowed down until it eventually stopped. Students milled into the corridors of the train, eyeing each other warily. Everyone but the First Years wore black robes with their House crests on the right breast pocket and stripped ties. Harry, Draco and the rest of their year mates wore plain black robes and no ties at all. 

Well, some of them, like Ron who was sure he’d be in Gryffindor, had a red and gold tie, which belonged to his second eldest brother once, stuffed into his robe pocket. Draco was certain he would be in Slytherin, but Narcissa was going to stick with the tradition and owl the ties and crests along after the Sorting had taken place. 

Harry didn’t know where he would end up, and he found it strange that so many of his year mates were walking along telling everyone how they _would_ be in so-and-so House because _all of their family_ had been. It was a ridiculous belief. All of Harry’s family had been in Gryffindor, but that was the only House Harry had completely narrowed out of the equation. He was definitely not ending up there. 

“First Years ov’r here!” A loud voice called. Harry looked over when he heard Draco gasp. The blond was staring at a man who was almost as tall as the train. A large hand waved them over and Harry cringed as he briefly imagined Dudley’s face on the giant’s body. His hands were bigger than Harry’s head. 

Harry spotted Ron walking over. He had left a compartment with two other redheads and a black boy. One was a friend, and the other two were obviously brothers, and all three were much older than Ron and were shouting after him, things that made Ron scowl and blush and walk away that much faster. 

“Leave yer trunks. Argus’ll get ‘em.” The giant continued.

Whoever Argus was, Harry didn’t know, but he trusted that someone who worked for Hogwarts knew what he was talking about. The children were hoping off of the train in groups, most of them running ahead in the direction opposite Hagrid, towards carriages that were tied to strange wraith-like horses. Harry followed the other first years away from the rest of the students. 

“What are those?” Harry whispered to Draco, pointing back in the direction of the carriages. They stopped beside a lake, watching warily as Hagrid ushered them into groups of four. Several boats hovered on the surface of the black water, and the lake stretched out for miles in front of them, so far in fact that Hogwarts wasn’t even visible yet. 

Hagrid stopped beside them, a sheet of parchment in his hands. He ticked off names as he put the children in the boats, making sure everyone was accounted for. He heard Harry’s question, and answered at the same time as Draco. 

“What, Harry?” The blond said. 

Hagrid dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief. “Yer can see the Thestrals?” He asked, “yer poor boy, yer!” He gave a sniffle, that was strong enough to ruffle Harry’s hair, and then tucked away his handkerchief. “Now, into the boat wit yer.” He grabbed Harry by the collar of his robes and lifted the child clean off of the ground. Hagrid waded into the water and put Harry down gently into one of the boats. Those who were already seated in a boat were trembling lightly, not having yet forgotten being picked up one handed and carried over a lake. 

Before Hagrid could grab for Draco, a girl suddenly shoved her way between the blond and Hagrid. “Hermione Granger, sir. I should be on that list.” 

“Er?” Hagrid scratched at his chin, while he looked at the parchment. “So yer are. Suppose yer’ll be in this here boat then.” He lifted Hermione up and put her down beside Harry. Draco did manage to land himself in the same boat as them, along with a slightly podgy boy who trembled with terror every time one of the other three so much as looked in his direction. 

“Oh,” Hermione said slowly, “that’s Neville Longbottom. He’s lost his toad.” Harry didn’t bother asking how she knew that. He just nodded his head, and resolved himself to spend the rest of the boat ride in silence. 

When the castle finally came into view Harry couldn’t help but gasp. It was brilliant! He couldn’t think of any other word to describe the beauty in front of him. The sun had just begun to set (having wasted the day travelling) and the splashes of gold and pink spread out across the sky just beyond the castle, making it look as if Hogwarts had a halo of light. Harry smiled softly at the thought. It was beautiful. 

And it was going to be his home. 

“Oh my,” Hermione breathed out, her hand pressed to her chest. “Wow.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Harry said in agreement. 

“I’ve seen it before,” Draco said smugly, “my father is a school governor. I’ve seen Hogwarts loads of times!” But even though that was true, Draco didn’t look any less impressed than the rest of the first years. This was, after all, Draco’s first time seeing Hogwarts from the outside. 

“Thank you, Hagrid,” a stern looking woman said, as she helped the giant dock the boats at the edge of the lake. “My name is Minerva McGonagall,” she offered Hermione a small smile, remembering the Muggleborn girl, “and I am deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts and Head of Gryffindor House.” 

She led the way into the castle, and it was all Harry could do to avoid the others stepping on him. He wasn’t the tallest in his year, and everyone was so excited and awed, their heads were snapping left then right trying to take in as much as possible, but no one was really watching where they were going. A loud yell and a crash alerted McGonagall to the fact that Ron Weasley had just walked straight into a Knight in Armour. The Knight raised his sword at Ron, the slits in its helmet narrowed and he took a step forward. McGonagall flicked her wand and the Knight fell still again, moving back into its usual position. 

“Mr Weasley, if it isn’t too much to ask, could you please watch where you are going? The sorting is about to start.” She tsked at him in displeasure and then carried on walking. Most of the children were too nervous to laugh, but Draco managed a grin full of smug superiority, aiming it at Ron just as they brushed by him. Harry fought back a soft chuckle. 

“When I call your names,” the Professor told them, “walk forward, sit on the stool and then you will be sorted.” The first to be called forward was a blond girl named ‘Abbott, Hannah’. 

Hermione took a deep breath as her name was called. She straightened her back and shoulders and walked forward unhurriedly, trying to appear calm. She sat primly on the stool, her ankles crossed and her hands folded in her lap. As the hat touched her head, her eyes darted in Harry’s direction. She so desperately wanted to be his friend. 

“GRYFFINDOR!” The hat cried. Hermione grinned widely in Harry’s direction and ran towards the red and gold table. 

“She was convinced she’d be a Ravenclaw.” Harry muttered to his friend. “I wonder why she got Gryffindor?”

“Maybe she thought you’d go there?” Draco suggested, as the next name was called. 

“She thought wrong,” Harry hissed back. 

When it was Draco’s turn, the hat had barely touched his head before screaming, “SLYTHERIN!” loudly. Harry smiled as his friend beamed and primped at the silver and green table. Draco looked around, smirking, eyeing his Housemates in distaste or curiosity or respect, depending on who they were. Most everyone looked towards the Malfoy heir with pleased smiles on their faces. 

“Potter, Harry,” McGonagall said. Though, the ‘Harry’ part was drowned out by the suddenly cries that filled the Great Hall. 

‘Is that really him there, that one?’ one person whispered. 

‘The Harry Potter?’ another cried. 

‘He’s so short!’

‘Is that him? Are you sure?’ someone asked, wide eyed. 

Harry rolled his eyes. He stepped forward, ignoring the whispers and strode towards the front of the Hall. He sat on the stool and just before the hat fell to cover his eyes he caught sight of Draco smiling at him. 

“ **Well who do we have here? Ah, Harry Potter! How are you? Now let’s see… Cunning, bravery in moderation, hmm, you have a rather vindictive streak as well young man. I’d hate to get on the wrong side of you. Gryffindor is not the House for you, I’m afraid. Ah hah! What’s this? A great mind, the thirst for knowledge and to prove yourself. I suppose there is only one choice left, but Slytherin would have done you good as well. You would have found true friends there… Oh but you already have a friend there! Clever, clever of you to seek friends outside of your House. Well, that settles it. The answer must be…**

It was the longest sorting anyone could remember and many people were looking worried, wondering if maybe Harry Potter didn’t belong at Hogwarts. And then the Hat spoke out loud. 

“…RAVENCLAW!”

Everyone at the bronze and blue table burst into applause, flying up out of their seats and laughing and grinning wildly. The Slytherin’s slumped dejectedly into their chairs, eyeing Draco worriedly, for most of them knew that Harry and Draco had been friends (on the train at least). At the Gryffindor table, most of the students consoled themselves that at least Harry wasn’t in Slytherin. But Hermione Granger began to cry softly. She could have gone to Ravenclaw, but she had chosen not to, because everyone had told her how Harry Potter’s parents were in Gryffindor and that was where he would end up too. The Hufflepuffs cheered along with the Ravenclaws: they hadn’t ever expected the Saviour to end up in their House. 

Harry took his seat at the table, allowing an older boy to make space for him between his friends. Most of the first years sat at the front of the table, closest to the teachers, but Harry had sat down directly in the middle of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. 

“I’m Roger Davis, I’ve been made captain this year,” he told Harry, reaching out to pump the boy’s hand enthusiastically. Two other boys introduced themselves as Adam Bradley and Benjamin Chambers, both Chasers.2 

The sorting soon came to a close, and Harry was so busy shaking hands that he completely missed whatever it was that Headmaster Dumbledore said. The food appeared, and it seemed to be enough to make people leave him alone a little. They all started eating, but as Harry loaded his plate with food, he couldn’t help but sweep his eyes around the Hall, taking in the people, and teachers and ghosts, and tapestries. The sky above them was beautiful and black and speckled with stars, but Harry knew it wasn’t real. It was merely charmed, but that didn’t make it any less beautiful. 

Ravenclaw received ten new Ravenclaws, not including himself. As far as he could remember, that was the most new students than any other House got this year. He felt rather pleased about that. 

As he was eating, he managed to catch Draco’s eyes. He watched the blond worriedly. Harry knew Draco had been looking forward to being in the same House, and while he had tried to tell Draco several times that he probably wouldn’t be in Slytherin, the blond wasn’t known for his listening skills. The blond met his gaze evenly. His eyes narrowed for a moment, before a smile settled on his mouth. 

“Idiot,” he mouthed over at Harry. The brunette beamed. 

Harry kept eating. He tried to ignore Hermione who was waving in his direction, tears on her face. He told himself he shouldn’t feel guilty. It wasn’t his fault she ended up in a House that didn’t suit her. If she had stayed true to herself, instead of wanting solely to be with Harry instead of where she would fit in best, then she wouldn’t be crying right then. He looked over and flinched at the horridly betrayed look on her face. It wasn’t his fault, he told himself. And they weren’t even friends for that matter, so why did he even care? 

He turned away from her resolutely. 

Now wasn’t the time for him to feel sad or guilty. He should be happy. He was finally at Hogwarts, and he had his own, _real_ wand, (though he was totally keeping his training wand as well), and he had landed in a House that made him happy, and that he knew would make Evan proud. He’d write to Evan once they were shown their rooms. 

Harry was sure his bronze-and-blue-stripped tie would arrive the following morning with the owl post. 

The two redheads who had stepped off of the Express with Ron drew his attention. They were leaning on each other, faking loud sobs that made Harry’s mouth twitch in amusement, while howling, “We didn’t get Potter!” Harry ducked his head to hide his smile. 

Hogwarts was going to be interesting. He would bet on it. 

**XXX**

 

1 – I’m following the outline of my school timetable, way back when, when I was Harry’s age and in school in England. So long ago now… Uni sucks!   
2 – Hedwig is actually the patron saint of Orphans. Shock, horror.   
3 – Giggle… Edos is the god of Fertility. Either Roman or Greek can’t remember sorry. He has a very big penis; it’s about twice the size of his whole body. Draco should take it as a compliment.   
4 – Titania is the name of the Fairy Queen from “A Midsummer’s Night Dream”. ‘They’ refer to faeries, who usually steal children away, and live under hills or in forests. Meave is another name associated with fairy queens. Bet no one guessed it was Evan, being clever and secretive?


	15. Chapter 14

**Words:** 3,538  
 **Chapter 14**  
September 2nd 1991. Hogwarts. 

As the sun rose, light streamed into the room, just above Harry’s bed. His eyes fluttered. A few of the other boys stirred as well, but they just rolled over and tried to get back to sleep. However, the moment Harry’s eyes were open, he sat up straight in the bed, a huge grin spreading over his face. 

Classes were starting today. 

It was his first day at Hogwarts. 

“Come on, come on,” he shouted at his roommates. Out of the other five boys, only one sat up. 

“What time is it?” He grumbled sleepily. His name was Kevin Entwhistle. 

After casting a ‘ _Tempus_ ’, Harry told him, “it’s 7am. Breakfast is on from 7-10, and classes start at 9. It’s time to get up. No one wants to be late on their first day, especially not a Ravenclaw.” 

Three of the others stirred at that. Anthony Goldstein disappeared into the bathroom without a word. Michael Corner rubbed at his eyes grumpily, but rolled from the bed anyway. Terry Boot followed his example, exclaiming about how his parents would be disappointed if he was late to class. As a family of Ravenclaws, he was expected to be studious and attentive, just like his parents had been. Harry rolled his eyes, making sure that no one could see him do it, before turning his attention to the last person in the room. 

Stephen Cornfoot, the only Muggleborn among them, was still fast asleep. Harry slipped from his bed, and made his way to Stephen’s. A nudge to his shoulder wasn’t enough to rouse the boy, and Harry, having been raised by a Death Eater, wasn’t the most compassionate person alive. 

“Well I tried,” he told the others, before disappearing into the bathroom after Anthony. 

The remaining three boys watched their dormmate sleep and frowned after the Boy-Who-Lived. “Wake him up then?” Kevin nudged Terry. 

“Why should I? If the Muggleborn wants to sleep through his morning classes, let him. I have to eat breakfast and then go study. Excuse me.” Terry grabbed his robes and toiletries off of the top of his trunk and went into the bathroom. 

“I agree with him,” Michael said, giving a small shrug. 

Just because they weren’t Slytherins didn’t mean they would tolerate Muggleborns that were lazy and refused to do well at school. They were Ravenclaws for Merlin sake! Sleeping in, when you could be studying, and on a **weekday** was a terrible thing to do. Blood purity aside: that was how you divide the good people from the bad. Michael told Kevin as much, and left the dorm as well. 

When Harry came back into the dorm, the other four boys flanked him. Kevin was ready, but was still hovering by Stephen’s bed. Apparently the boy slept like a log. With another roll of his eyes, Harry pointed his wand at the bed. “ _Abscindo_!” He said the word softly, and the other eleven-year-olds didn’t recognize the spell, so they didn’t react until Stephen gave a loud squeal and leapt from the bed, blood dripping down his arm. 

“What did you do?” Anthony whispered. 

Occasionally, some Dark children ended up in Ravenclaw. Since these children didn’t recognize this particularly ‘light’ Dark spell, then Harry obviously wasn’t so fortunate this year, or his roommates were very good actors. 

“Cutting hex,” Harry said simply, as he picked up his book bag. “He’s awake, isn’t he?” 

Stephen was curled up on the edge of the bed, sobbing lightly, his bleeding arm clutched to his chest. “I’ll bring him to the nurse.” Michael offered. Kevin had stayed beside him all morning, trying to wake him, so now he stepped away, happily relieving the burden of the other boy onto someone else. 

Harry frowned. He was usually a nice guy. Honestly, he was. But he had no patience for laziness. Maybe the boy wanted to sleep in, and fair enough, he could. On a weekend. Or once they received their schedules, and if they had free classes until 11, then Stephen could sleep in all he wanted. But today was their first day, and Harry didn’t want anyone giving **his** House a bad reputation. 

“I’m going to breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day, you know.” He left. 

He was the Boy-Who-Lived, after all, even though he was being a little bit uncaring. But maybe he just wasn’t a morning person? Everyone but Stephen and Michael followed Harry from the dorm, and then out of the common room entrance. 

The Great Hall was half full by the time Harry got there. The elder years had gotten the hang of waking as late as possible, eating as quickly as possible, and still getting to class on time, so they weren’t there. Mostly, it was the first and second years, the prefects and Head boys and Head girls who were in the Hall. 

Draco waved Harry over to the Slytherin table. 

In ‘ **Hogwarts: A History** ’, it said that the Headmaster never gave a speech in the morning because the students were never all there at the same time. Unlike lunch and dinner. Harry really only needed to sit at his table when Professor Flitwick was handing out their timetables. 

“I thought you would be the first one here.” Draco smirked. 

Harry sat on the bench beside the blond and helped himself to some food. “I would have been.” He told Draco about Stephen and the Cutting hex. 

“Stupid Mudblood,” was all Draco said in response. 

“It was rather annoying. They just ignored him because I did, or stood there attempting to wake him, because I made a feeble attempt, but no one, in a room filled mostly with Purebloods, no one thought to use magic. It’s a pity. I bet Hogwarts wasn’t like that when Evan was in school.”

“Father used to say that the last one awake in his dorm every morning would get hexed. It sort of always sounded like fun.”

“You did it, didn’t you?” Harry tried to suppress a smile, but he couldn’t help but let it bloom across his face. “Who?”

“Well I simply had to! The opportunity was right before me, and I could not let it pass by. Harry, what kind of Slytherin would I be then?” Draco smirked. “And it was Theodore Nott.” Draco pointed at a mousy, dark haired boy a few seats down, whose head was hanging over his food. 

Harry couldn’t get a good look at his face, but he thought he recognized him. “Isn’t he the son of Theaodore Nott? Wasn’t he a you know, you know?” Draco gave a nod. “I think I met his brother once. Terrance looked just as beat down as Theo does.” 

“Maybe their father is like your Muggles?” Draco asked concernedly. He didn’t like to see anyone abused, especially after meeting Harry. 

“Maybe.”

Needing to change the subject, Draco plastered a grin on his face and shoved Harry sideways. “So it’s ‘Theo’ now, is it? Harry has a crush! Harry has a crush!”

“Your behaviour is the epitome of undignified.” Harry hissed. He turned his head away from Draco pointedly, but ended up staring at Theo Nott, who was staring back at him. Looking hurriedly away again, Harry’s eyes darted to the other side of the Great Hall, where Hermione was watching him, her eyes red and puffy. She waved at him. 

Harry looked away again. 

_XXX_

Their first class had been Charms with just Ravenclaws. Professor Flitwick had been just as excitable as he had been during the welcoming speech the night before, except this time, he didn’t fall over at the mention of Harry’s name. Afterwards, the Ravenclaws shared a class with the Gryffindors for Transfiguration, where they were all immensely pleased to see Ron Weasley thoroughly embarrassed by Professor McGonagall. A small break followed the two morning classes, before the students were expected to head on to Herbology with the Slytherins.1

It wasn’t that it was a very interesting class that made it memorable. But rather what happened in it. One would think that being the famous Boy-Who-Lived would have made Harry immune to teasing, but apparently not. 

They had been forced to partner with someone outside of their own House. Professor Sprout had been most insistent, and when Crabbe and Goyle had pointedly ignored her and continued to stand beside Draco she had frowned, scowled, and then smiled sweetly, before releasing a cutting of Devil’s Snare onto them. 

“Now, partner with someone _outside_ of your House, please,” she repeated. 

With a long-suffering sigh, Harry cast ‘ _Incendio_ ’ on the plant, freeing his year mates. He made his way to Draco’s side, offering the other Ravenclaws a smug grin as he was awarded five house points for perfect spell casting. Harry had stopped just beside his blond friend, when Draco suddenly shoved him sideways. Harry looked up, frowning. But before he could speak, Draco smirked widely at him and gave another shove. This time, Harry fell against someone. The other person automatically reached out to grab his shoulders, steadying Harry against his chest. 

Harry looked over his shoulder and winced. “Sorry,” he whispered to Theodore Nott. The elder boy looked down at him with a frown, his eyes narrowed, but his hands still on Harry’s arms. 

“I see you’ve already picked a partner, Harry.” Draco gave another grin, and Harry promised himself silently that he would smother the blond as he slept that night. Somehow, despite the fact that they slept at opposite ends of the castle, somehow Harry would get him back. “You, Boot. You’re Pureblooded, aren’t you? You’re my partner. Come here!” A hand waved imperiously, and Terry was afraid to do anything but obey. He shuffled forward, and hesitantly stood beside the blond. He shot the brunette apologetic looks, but Harry was too busy glaring holes in Draco to notice. 

“Suppose we’re partners then?” Theo asked. He spoke so softly that Harry could barely hear him. He wouldn’t look Harry in the eye either. Instead when he spoke, he looked at Harry’s mouth, his fringe hanging down into his eyes. “Sorry about that.” Theo added with a shrug. 

“It’s not a problem.” Harry stood at Theo’s worktable, noticing with a frown that Theo was standing alone, and the area directly surrounding him was empty as well. “I really don’t mind.”

“Most people would have.” Theo added with a shrug. Then he seemed to realize what he had said, and flinched back, shrinking into himself. Theo didn’t speak again during the lesson unless it was work related, and Harry noticed that he purposely ignored Draco’s whispering. 

“Hey Harry, did you tell Nott you loved him yet? Oi, traitor, Harry loves you. Harry has a crush! I suppose he’s a better choice than Granger.” It went on for most of the lesson, and despite the numerous dirty looks and stinging hexes Harry sent his way, Draco just refused to stop. Crabbe and Goyle had even started cracking their knuckles in Theo’s direction whenever the word ‘traitor’ was used. 

The second the bell went off, Theodore practically flew out of the greenhouse. 

History of Magic was next. Harry was with the Gryffindors again and Draco was headed to Transfiguration with the Hufflepuffs. 

“What was that about? With Nott?” Harry asked, frowning. “Was it really necessary?”

Draco just shoved. “Yeah maybe I should be nicer, because he’s probably being abused, but, still…” He trailed off uncomfortably. 

“He’s a traitor, in’t he?” Gregory Goyle asked, looking at Draco for clarification. The blond gave a nod, and then he and Goyle followed the rest of the Slytherin first years away from Harry. 

Neither Evan nor Lucius had ever spoken to him about those who had betrayed the Dark Lord. Well, they spoke about Snape, but that was different. No one was really sure if Snape actually was a traitor. Maybe he really was a spy, and maybe he wasn’t. So, Snape didn’t really count. Real traitors weren’t a conversation that Harry’s Death Eater associates liked to talk about. Next time Harry saw Evan, he’d make sure to ask about the Notts.

 _XXX_

Lunch was a strained affair. Hermione had followed him the whole way from History of Magic over to the Slytherin table, and had obtusely refused to see that she wasn’t welcome. So with Hermione on one side of him, and Theodore somehow ending up sitting on the other side of him, and Draco opposite him alternating between laughter and glaring, Harry didn’t enjoy his lunch one bit. 

When the bell rang for Potions to start, Harry was more than happy to leave the Great Hall. He wasn’t looking forward to a class with Snape, but at least it was with the Hufflepuffs. Which meant, no Hermione, no Theodore, and no Draco who Harry desperately wanted to throttle. 

Professor Snape wasn’t at all happy to see Harry Potter at Hogwarts. He had hated the boy’s father, and he hated the idea of the boy as well. Honestly, he didn’t hate the boy. He just didn’t know him, but he didn’t care to get to know him. Regardless of what Headmaster Dumbledore said, or Minerva, or Filius said, Severus didn’t think he would ever like the child that should have been his. Severus would have happily gone his whole life without running into Potter’s spawn. 

And to make matters worse, his own godson was conspiring against him! Draco was apparently good friends with Potter, _despite only knowing each other a **day**_! Draco had had the gall to demand Severus give Harry the Slytherin password so that he could visit and sleepover whenever he wanted. It was an unbelievable request. Certainly only a Malfoy would dare. 

Severus had, of course, refused. And he had spoken to Filius over lunch to make sure that permission was not granted for Draco to remain in the Ravenclaw dorms either. Draco could do better than Potter. Imagine what Lucius would say if he knew! Snape scoffed to himself, a smirk spreading across his face as he imagined Lucius Malfoy putting Potter in his place. 

He grabbed the door handle, and swung it open. The Hufflepuff who had been leaning against the door fell into the room, landing at Snape’s feet in a pile. He looked up with a blush and hurriedly pulled himself together. The students rushed into the room, all avoiding the heated gaze Snape had on them and settled into their seats. Harry was the last to enter, and he met Snape’s glare dead on. His face was blank, his eyes wide and unguarded as he met Severus’. Harry offered a smile, one that bared his eyeteeth and stretched his cheeks wide. He had seen Evan smile at Petunia like that often, and each time Petunia had cringed away in fear. Severus gave a small, barely noticeable flinch, recognizing the gesture from his Death Eater days, but not knowing who he had seen smile like that before. Snape focused on Harry’s eyes, pushing into his mind, needing to know why Lily’s son was grinning at him that way. 

Harry had been reading about Occlumency for some time. Occasionally, Evan allowed him to practise. Rosier had never been much good at it, but Lucius’ shields were passable enough to fool most of the Wizengamot. Whenever Harry was alone with Lucius, they would practise. Even with two years of practise and magical theory, Harry still had quite a way to go. He doubted he would ever be an expert at the art, his mind was too open, his nature too feeling to ever be completely hidden behind blank faces and walls. But he was able to push Snape away, just a gentle nudge to Severus’ own mind, almost like a flick on the ear. 

The Professor’s mind drew back sluggishly. He hadn’t seen anything, of that Harry was sure. But he would probably be suspicious now. Harry would have to make sure not to meet his eyes too often. Maybe he should let Snape view some of his memories? Lucius had claimed that Snape hated him, and Harry was prepared to hate back, but maybe seeing some of the Dursleys’ actions would thaw Snape to him a little? It would be beneficial if **all** of the Hogwarts professors liked him! 

Snape glared. Something had touched his mind, and the only person close enough to him to have attempted Legilimency was Potter. But the boy wouldn’t have the skills or the training, or the brainpower, Snape thought with a sneer. 

“Harry Potter,” he hissed, putting his suspicions aside for the moment, “our newest celebrity.” He held the door wider, beckoning Harry inside silently. The moment Harry’s passed through the threshold, Snape allowed the door to close with a slam. Every student in the room jumped at the noise. “Take your seat, Potter. Now let’s begin-”

 _XXX_

During dinner that evening a package came for Draco and another came for Harry. Harry was sitting at his own table for once, eating slowly and trying to forget the rather inane speech the Headmaster had just given. Hedwig2, a snowy white owl who was as beautiful as she was intelligent, came soaring across the Great Hall and landed silently beside Harry’s plate. She had been a gift from Narcissa Malfoy, who had also bought her son an eagle owl named Edos.3 

The package contained Harry’s bronze-and-blue stripped tie, plus two spares, and a crest that the House Elves would sew onto his robes. Two more robes, plus crest, were inside the box as well. And there was a letter. 

**“Meave. Two shall pass in the hill where they stay. Rejoice my return before they steal you away. Titania.”** 4

Harry folded up the letter and placed it in his trouser pocket. He looked over at Draco, who was reading a letter of his own, before smiling into his pumpkin juice. Evan was coming to see him in two days. Harry hadn’t even realized he had missed his father until just then. The fact that Evan was coming so soon meant a lot to Harry. He was glad that Evan missed him as well. Briefly he wondered if Lucius would visit them as well, or if he would be just another parent and wait until the holidays. The thought of not seeing Lucius until Christmas cause a pang of something to spread through his chest, but Harry brushed it aside. Draco wasn’t upset about not seeing his father, so what right did Harry have to be? Lucius was probably sick of seeing him by now anyway… or maybe… maybe Lucius liked seeing Harry too? Harry gave another smile, his head ducked over his cup so no one would see. 

“Thinking about Theo, are you?” Draco asked suddenly, having snuck up behind him.

“What? No!”

“You are, aren’t you? You really do have a crush on Theo!”

“I do not have a crush on Nott,” Harry insisted, even as he shifted aside to let Draco sit beside him. 

“But you do have a crush? Already? It must be on Granger!” Draco scowled at the idea. The pitiful Mudblood was still staring over at Harry from the Gryffindor table. For all her book smarts, she was too stupid to see that Harry didn’t want to be her friend. 

Harry didn’t want to tell Draco that the reason he was smiling so widely was because he was thinking about his father. That would be slightly awkward, not to mention weird. Draco didn’t smile like that when they talked about Harry’s father. It was all so confusing. But maybe it was a part of growing up, and he’d understand when he was older? 

“What did you want?”

“I wrote to father about you.” Draco said loudly. They were still going along with the game that they had only just met. “He said he’s very pleased that you are my friend. He hopes to meet you at Yule time.” Draco turned his head slowly, purposely settling his gaze on his godfather and raised an ‘I told you so’ eyebrow. Snape had insisted that Lucius wouldn’t approve of Draco’s new friend! Draco had tried to argue with him, but the man had been rather stubborn. Draco was determined to show his godfather that, as always, he had been right. 

At the Head table, Severus scowled. 

Beside him, Professor Quirrell watched both boys with a smile. “Don’t they make a lovely couple?” He asked Severus. 

Severus, who had just taken a sip of his coffee, spit it back out again. His eyes narrowed into slits. “They are not, absolutely not, a couple, Quirinus. Is that understood?”

“Well not now. But in a few years, maybe?” 

“No.” Snape said harshly. “Never.” He turned to glare in Harry’s direction. 

The brunette, who could tell by the disgusted look on his professor’s face that they were talking about him, leant purposely over to hug Draco. 

“I’m so glad we’re friends.” 

Draco hugged him back. “Well of course you are,” the blond said pompously, “I am fabulous after all.”

As if he could hear what Harry had said, Snape’s eyebrow gave a twitch, and his glare hardened. 

“I still think they’d make a nice-” Quirrell insisted. 

“No!” 

**XXX**

 

1 – “The Road Less Travelled”, by Robert Frost.   
2 – Obviously not Neville, since he is in Harry’s class. But I doubt it would be unusual to have someone hurt him or herself learning to fly. Let’s say it was a Hufflepuff, since in canon all of the Slytherins were fine flyers.


	16. Chapter 15

**Words:** 3,982  
 **Chapter 15**  
September 4th 1991. Hogwarts. The Forbidden Forest. 

Evan watched him silently. Harry was usually quite graceful, but apparently the roots of the trees in the Forbidden Forest seemed to have it out for him. It was after the third time that Evan saw him fall that Harry noticed him there. Green eyes met brown, and a scowl settled on Harry’s mouth. 

“Well thanks for the help,” he drawled sarcastically. 

“Anytime.” Evan smirked. He waved his wand, and the roots that still lay in Harry’s path all sank back into the ground. It was the new moon of the month. It was pitch black without the moon or any stars, and Harry could barely see a foot in front of himself. He’d given up on maintaining a ‘ _Lumos_ ’, since every time he fell over, it extinguished itself anyway. 

“I’ve missed you,” Harry said softly. A moment later he was pressing himself tightly to Evan’s chest. The Death Eater’s arms came around him, squeezing him tightly, and a soft kiss was pressed to the top of his head. 

“It’s been a week, and yet it felt like eternity. Time surely does fly, Caen.” Evan mused, his arms still holding his son. 

“I thought that only happened when you were having fun?” Harry pulled back a little, and Evan taking the hint let him go completely. They stood facing each other, a soft smile on Harry’s face, but Evan’s was blank. 

“I’m this close to grabbing you and making a run for it.” A hand came up to cup Harry’s cheek. The child frowned, then placed his hand over Evan’s. 

Evan wasn’t usually a very sentimental guy, nor was he one to talk about his feelings often. So Harry did what he always did when even was having a ‘chick-flick moment’. He ignored it. “How’d you get here anyway?” 

“I apparated to Hogsmeade and flew the rest of the way. My wings are very tired,” he trailed off slowly. Harry had to chuckle at his tone of voice and the way he dragged the words out for at least three seconds each. “How did you get here?” He asked, a grin finding its way back onto his face. 

“I followed the yellow brick road.” Harry said with a straight face. If Evan had been stupid, he might have believed Harry was being serious. 

Remembering the way Harry had stumbled and tripped and fallen, all in the time where Evan could see him, and undoubtedly during the time Evan couldn’t either, the Wizard snorted and said, “more like the road less travelled by.”

“And that made all the difference,” Harry agreed, while giggling. “I wanted to ask you something.” He said, turning serious. There was no point asking why Evan had asked to meet him. Harry knew it was because he had been missed, but he also knew Evan well enough to know that Evan would either admit and change the subject, or lie and say he came for a different reason. Harry _knew_ Evan had missed him. Whether Evan said it or not didn’t matter. 

“Oh? About the lovely Miss. Granger? Well I’m afraid you don’t have my permission to marry her. You’ll have to elope to Gretna Green, my boy.” Evan steepled his fingers beneath his chin and peered at Harry through fluttering lashes.

“It’s a good thing I’m already in Scotland,” Harry drawled. 

“I see you’ve given this some thought. Be made aware,” Evan continued to tease his child, “that if I hear a word about you taking the lady away and not marrying her, well, you’ll be worse for wear, chap. The virtue of a lady must never be in question. For once lost, you’ll never get it back.”

“Ok that’s enough Jane Austen-esque. Can we get back to what I wanted to ask?” Evan gave a chuckle, but he nodded his head. “Was Theaodore Nott a Death Eater?”

Evan’s head jerked to the side when he heard the name. “Yes,” he said, but he didn’t turn to look at Harry. “Why?”

“I wanted to know about his sons. Evan, are you ok?” 

Rosier grabbed Harry’s arm, pulling the boy with him towards a large tree that had been a little way behind them. One of its branches was low enough and thick enough to sit on. Evan lifted Harry slightly, and the boy wiggled his way into a comfortable position on the branch and waited. The Death Eater leant against the trunk of the tree and folded his arms across his chest. “Why do you want to know about the Notts?”

“The youngest is in my year. Draco and the others, well they aren’t very nice to him, even though he is in Slytherin. Why is that?” Harry was genuinely curious. Theodore hadn’t really done anything wrong as far as Harry could see; yet the others were almost unbearably cruel to him. He was treated the same as Harry supposed the Gryffindors would have treated Draco had the blond been in their House (as unlikely as that would be). How would Theodore have been a traitor? He wouldn’t have been old enough to have betrayed the Dark Lord. 

Evan sighed. “It was a long time ago, Caen. Theaodore Nott was never a nice man, and,” Evan was interrupted by Harry, who gave a snort of laughter, “ok, I’m not a very nice man, but you know I would never hurt you?”

“I know.”

“Theodore and Terrance do not have that assurance. He wasn’t always so bad, I suppose. I was never close to him, never spent much time with any of the others to be perfectly honest. I much preferred to spend my time annoying Bellatrix or trading banter with my Lord. There was a time, when Theaodore’s loyalties were tested and he failed that test. The Ministry kidnapped his wife, and the Dark Lord refused to rescue her because he knew it was a trap. The Ministry had proof that Theaodore was a Death Eater, and they hoped that by taking his wife, they’d have the chance to ambush the others that came to her rescue.”

Evan trailed off, running a hand over his face. With a sigh, he continued. “Theaodore wasn’t happy with our Lord’s decision. He went to the Order, begged them to save his wife in exchange for information about our side. He was inducted into the Order of the Phoenix, a group of misfits led by Dumbledore in the hopes of driving back the forces of darkness.”

“And stealing from the rich to give to the poor?” Harry quipped, watching the way Evan kept clenching and unclenching his hands until his knuckles were bone white. 

The brunette gave a chuckle. “They believe they are righteous. And we believe we are right. But who is wrong?” He waved his hand, brushing off whatever answer Harry might have given, and got back to the topic they had been discussing. “After Theaodore’s induction, he led the Order to Voldemort’s safe house. Many of our side, not even fighters, just wives and children and the elderly, those who had no choice but to hide because maybe a son or daughter or grandchild joined the Dark Lord, many were killed. While this was happening, Voldemort had relented, and he, another called Mason and myself went to the Ministry to rescue the Mrs. Nott. We managed to return her body. When Theaodore realised she had been killed, and that the Order hadn’t saved her, he begged the Dark Lord for forgiveness.”

“And because he is a merciful Lord, he forgave.” Harry whispered. His face was pale, and briefly he wondered if Theodore had ever been told why his father was considered a traitor. 

“Yes, he did. But Theaodore was evicted from the Inner Circle, delegated to mainly grunt work, meaningless raids and the such. He drank a lot more, or so I was told. The boys were very young at this point. Terrance would have been 2, and Theodore merely a baby, not much older than you and you would have just been born around then. I’d wager that the elder boy got the brunt of his father’s anger.” 

Harry jumped down off of the branch. He wrapped an arm lightly around Evan’s waist, inviting the man to hug him closer, which he did. “That’s horrible. But it’s not really Theo’s fault, is it! The others should be a little nicer to him.”

“What is with the sudden interest, my child?”

“He reminds me of me,” Harry said softly, scuffing his shoes in the dirt. “He seems so resigned to being hated, and to never having friends. It isn’t fair. I have you now, and Draco and Lucius. He should have someone.” Harry stared at the floor sadly. 

Evan grabbed Harry’s chin, and lifted his face up. “I believe he has you. If you wish to befriend the boy, by all means, do so. He is a Pureblood. Just because his father made a grave mistake, does not mean he will.” Evan pulled something out of his pocket and unrolled it. A chuckle escaped him. “This arrived for Lucius. Draco sent it. Lucius thought it would amuse me to read, though he was not so impressed. Shall I read you some?” 

“Ok, sure.” Harry gave the letter a confused glance. “Why not.”

“You’ll never guess what father. You will not guess, so I will inform you immediately. Harry has a crush. He could possibly have a boyfriend by the time you reply, I am in no doubts. He seems quite taken with Theodore Nott, you know, the traitor’s son. Calls him ‘Theo’ and everything, and they’ve partnered up in Potions. And Nott stares at Harry all of the time, I don’t like it, father. But I suppose Harry does, so I’ll leave it alone. Well, obviously I’ll tease him terribly. Perhaps you should buy me a camera for Yule and then I can take embarrassing photos of Harry and Nott together?” Evan stopped reading, smiling at the flush that had inflamed Harry’s face. “What embarrassing things could a pair of eleven-year-olds be getting up to, I wonder?” 

“I don’t fancy Theo.” Evan raised an eyebrow. “-dore.” 

“So it is Miss. Granger who will win your heart? Perhaps, as you age, Theo, dear Theo, might be in with a fighting chance?” A slow smirk worked its way across Rosier’s mouth. “Or maybe… it will be Draco who sweeps you off your feet?”

Harry thought of Lucius, who looked so much like Draco, with those grey eyes and the soft blond hair, and he smiled. And then he thought of Draco. Draco who looked so much like Lucius, but who wasn’t. Draco who was his friend. His first friend his age, his only real friend his age, and he tried to imagine kissing Draco. “NO! That would be so wrong. No, Evan, gross!” Then he thought about kissing Lucius, and his heart beat faster. Harry frowned. Did that mean he _wanted_ to kiss Lucius, or did it mean it was also wrong, but not ‘gross’ wrong because Evan hadn’t been implying that? 

Relationships were confusing, Harry decided. There was a reason people waited until they grew up. 

“Look, I don’t have a crush on Granger, or Nott, and I will never have one on Draco.”

“Never say never, my Caterpillar.” A hand came forward, brushing back the fringe from Harry’s eyes. “Whoever wins you will be very lucky indeed. But you have years yet until you need make a decision. Who knows, it may be the Dark Lord himself who claims you.”

The look on Harry’s face was priceless. Wide eyed and with his mouth open, he turned to stare at Evan. The man laughed, softly at first, but then louder and bolder until he was clutching at his stomach, completely overtaken by mirth. The sight of Evan so out-of-character shocked Harry a second time. 

“Lord Voldemort has no interest in taking a lover. He is above such menial pursuits.” Evan drawled after he had calmed down. 

“A man after your own heart then?” Evan glowered. “Hey, if you can tease me, I can tease you. Does little Evan have a crush on the big bad Dark Lord? Oh I bet he does.” Harry cooed. 

Evan’s hand clipped him lightly on the side of the head. “If you have nothing else to pester me with, may I suggest we enjoy our remaining time together in blessed silence?”

Evan slid down the trunk of the tree until he was sat on an exposed root at its base. Harry curled up in his lap. In the dark, they stayed like that, not moving until the sun began to rise. “Here.” Evan said, handing Harry a potions vial. “Pepper up,” he told him. “It should keep you going until lunch.” 

“You’re a bad influence on me. Most parents give their kids a bedtime. You keep yours up all night.” Harry groused, before downing the potion in one mouthful. 

Evan hummed lightly. He pressed a light kiss to the top of Harry’s head, just a bare brush of lips against hair, and when Harry looked up, he was gone. A green-and-brown butterfly hovered in front of his face. Harry reached up to brush the tip of his little finger against Evan’s wings, and then the butterfly flew away. 

With a smile on his face, Harry made his way out of the Forbidden Forest. 

_XXX_

September 12th 1991. Hogwarts.

Flying lessons were starting that afternoon, and unfortunately Ravenclaws were paired with the Gryffindors. Harry was convinced that Dumbledore was out to get him personally, because he had been assured by every Slytherin he knew that he could avoid both Ron and Granger because _for every other year previous_ the Gryffindors had been paired with **Slytherins**. It was either an unfortunate coincidence that this year was the year they decided to change that practise, or a conspiracy. 

“Hello Harry,” Hermione said softly as she came to stand beside him. 

“We’re meant to line up, in our Houses. Gryffindors are over there.” Harry pointed to a line of children standing two feet away from him. Not very far, but further away than Granger was right then. She was practically on top of him, smiling at him with watery eyes that made him feel extremely guilty for not begging for her friendship, even though he didn’t actually like her. 

“You know, it’s my birthday on the 19th.” Hermione told him. “The Gryffindor ghost, his name is Sir Nicholas, well he suggested I have a party. He’s invited, of course, and I was hoping you would come.”

Harry was saved from having to answer when Professor Hooch cleared her throat loudly, “everyone place their hands over their broom, and say ‘up’.” 

“Up,” came the calls from all of the students. Harry’s broom zipped instantly to his hand, along with a handful of the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors that he knew to be Pureblood. Amusingly enough, Ron’s shot up like a rake and smacked him in the face. Hermione’s rolled around on the ground, shaking lightly, and the Muggleborn from his dorm, Cornfoot, was holding his hand against his chest while crying. 

“Oh dear.” Hooch said, walking over to Stephen. “Looks like you’ve broken a finger or two.”

“The broom just, just,” he gave a soft sob as he spoke, “it just came up and smashed me in the hand.” 

“Not to worry, dear. Nothing unusual. Someone broke an arm an hour ago you know.2 Come on then, I’ll take you to Madam Pomfrey.” She whiled around, narrowing her eyes at the rest of her class. “Now the rest of you better behave. I’ve already had to deal with two others for showing off on the brooms while I was gone.”

“But we didn’t even get to mount the brooms!” Ron complained, his face turning a nasty shade of red. 

“When I come back, we can finish our lesson, Mr. Weasley. But for the meantime, try and have some compassion for a year mate.” She strode away, pulling Stephen after her. 

“That big baby ruined our class.” Ron muttered. A few of the other Gryffindors agreed with him, mumbling about how they had been looking forward to flying for a fortnight and now their class was postponed. 

“Oh honestly,” Hermione chided, “it isn’t the end of the world you know. That boy could have been killed, and all you are worried about is showing off on a stick?” She clucked lightly and shook her head. “Honestly, Ronald.” She sounded so much like his mother that Ron blushed, then, catching himself, he shot her a vicious glare. 

“Shut your mouth Granger. Filthy little know-it-all, always butting into other people’s business, telling people what to do, how to cast spells, it’s a wonder you have no friends.” He sneered at her.

“That’s not true!” Hermione said. Her hands were trembling, and she hurriedly placed them on her hips, trying to hide how his words were affecting her. “I do so have friends.”

“Prove it. Name one,” Ron spat, with an ugly sneer on his face. 

He was reminding Harry more and more of how Dudley used to be. Hermione looked around the group. The Ravenclaws stared at her, all of them knowing that they were not her friends. Her own Housemates turned their faces away, refusing to meet her pleading glances. Hermione moved towards Harry. “He’s my friend,” she whispered. Her eyes were teary, her bottom lip trembling, and Harry could hear the desperation and hope in the wobble of her voice, but he still turned his face away from her. 

Ron chuckled, loudly, clapping his hands together with glee. “See, Granger. No one wants you here. Why don’t you piss off back to the library?” He turned away from her, nodding in Harry’s direction and offering him a small smile. “Hey mate, how are you?”

Harry’s eyes widened. Completely confused he just continued to stare at Ron until the redhead turned away again, distracted by something else. 

Hermione stood sobbing, ignored by half of her year mates. Eventually, Harry couldn’t take any more. “Stop crying!” He shouted, turning to face her for the first time. Once again, she looked at him, so utterly betrayed and red-faced. He flinched and lowered his eyes. When he looked back up, Hermione was half way across the Quidditch pitch, sprinting back towards the school. 

“What was that about?” Professor Hooch asked as she hurried back towards them, without Stephen Cornfoot. 

A few of the Ravenclaws looked ready to tell the truth, but before they could, Ron butted in. “Potter made her cry, ma’am.” Weasley turned to Harry and shrugged his shoulders half apologetically, before looking back to the Professor. 

“Well.” She frowned. “Detention tonight, Potter.” 

“Sorry, mate,” Ron whispered as the lesson started up again. “Mum would kill me if I got detention so close to the start of the year.”

“Considering I don’t have a mother, it must be ok for me then.” Harry drawled. Ron’s eyes widened in horror, but before he could say anything, Harry had mounted his school-designated broom and shot up into the sky. 

“Very good, Potter!” Hooch shouted after him. “You should try out for the team next year!” 

Harry watched them all. Most of them only got a foot or so off of the ground, even Ron who had previously claimed to have engaged in aerial dogfights with Muggle helicopters. Harry, who was lazily floating around the highest reaching Quaffle hoop, gave a sigh. It was amusing, he thought, how insignificant everyone looked from up high. Like ants. All small, and puny, regardless of blood status. All so easily crushed. And then there was him, the only one of them that could watch them all at the same time, who could track them, and keep an eye out, the one who was high enough to protect himself. His eyes narrowed as he caught a glimpse of red hair. 

If they tested him, he could crush them. 

_XXX_

When his detention had finished, Harry had expected to head straight back to his dorm and just collapse into his bed. All of these late nights couldn’t be good for him. Unfortunately for him, when he left Filches office, Theodore Nott was waiting outside. 

“It’s after curfew.” Harry said softly, eyeing the other boy warily. “What do you want?”

“Filch doesn’t bother the Slytherins. We receive privileges every time we pass on information to him about other students.”

“You sell your year mates out to Filch, so you can get away with things?” Theo nodded, a small smirk on his face. “Sneaky. I like it.”

“Yes well, I didn’t think it up, but I’ll pass on your approval. As for what I wanted, well, I thought maybe we could talk. Or hang out, or I could walk you to your dorm maybe?” Theo’s eyes were the same colour as Evan’s, and when Harry caught their gaze, he couldn’t make himself look away. He imagined Evan as a child, around Theo’s age, and wondered what his family life must have been like. “Never mind. I just thought.” He said when Harry didn’t reply. 

“Look, whatever Draco has said, he’s being a prat. I don’t fancy you. I like girls!” Harry insisted. “Actually, I’m too young to like girls either. But I’m sorry, anyway, for what it’s worth.”

Theo chuckled, his face turning red. “Actually, Malfoy made it pretty clear to me that you would never, ever fancy me. So, yeah, we’re clear on that score. But I thought maybe we could be friends?” Harry stayed silent again. “Unless you’d rather have Granger?”

They both laughed, lightly and softly, and Harry turned to Theo and grinned. “I’d pick you any day.” 

“Good.” He held out a hand, and while it didn’t shake at all, Harry knew he was nervous. After what Evan had told him, and seeing what he had of Theo’s relationship with his dorm mates, Harry knew that the boy didn’t have very many friends, if any. “Friends?”

Harry took his hand and gave it a firm shake. “Frien- Ah!” He gave a cry. He fell to the left, crashing into Theodore as the staircase they were on suddenly swung sideways. “What the hell?” He cursed, looking around wide-eyed. Their staircase was the only one moving right then, the others were all still. It was rather strange. Harry didn’t he had seen a staircase move on its own before, usually they were all moving simultaneously. But this was only his second week, so what did he know?

“This is the third floor corridor we’re forbidden from being on!” Theo exclaimed. He was grinning, his eyes darting left and right, checking to see if anyone had noticed them. “Wanna check it out?”

Harry thought about it. Ravenclaws were studious and curious about knowledge. If he was caught, he could just say that he had been taking the opportunity to learn something new. Professor Flitwick liked him very much, so he’d probably get away with it. And Snape wouldn’t let one of his Slytherins be expelled, so Theo was safe. 

“Of course I do,” Harry said. 

Ten minutes later, as they were running back down the stairs and away from the three-headed-dog that had tried to bite of their heads, Harry wondered if maybe he should have been in Gryffindor after all. It had been a rather stupid thing to do, opening a locked and warded door, just to see what was inside. A door that was locked and warded in a forbidden area of the school as well. No. He was definitely not Gryffindor material, he decided as he split up with Theodore and headed back to his dorms. 

A Gryffindor would have tried to go inside. Whereas Harry wasn’t afraid to simply run away. Self-preservation as opposed to bravery. 

Maybe he should have been a Slytherin? 

**XXX**

 

1 – “The Road Less Travelled”, by Robert Frost.   
2 – Obviously not Neville, since he is in Harry’s class. But I doubt it would be unusual to have someone hurt him or herself learning to fly. Let’s say it was a Hufflepuff, since in canon all of the Slytherins were fine flyers. 

(i think i put this at the end of the last chapter as well, oops)


	17. Chapter 16

I just had three of my stories on FFNet deleted, one story for the second time since I joined the site... And am now considering moving over to Archive completely. Even though the reader response is better at FFNet, what's the point if the mods are just going to keep deleting all of my stats?!

 

 **Words:** 4,921  
 **Chapter 16**  
September 27th 1991. Hogwarts.

Quidditch practises had started the week before. Harry had never really been a big fan of Quidditch, and he had never had much opportunity to fly except for the times when he had stayed over at Malfoy Manor, so he didn’t like flying per se. But it was a nice, relaxing pastime nonetheless. Quidditch was anything but relaxing. 

Theodore was fond of it though. 

In the past fortnight, he and Theo had spent a lot of time together, whispering and inventing conspiracy theories as to why there was a Cerberus of all creatures hiding inside Hogwarts. So far, the best theory they had involved Snape (who Harry disliked), Hagrid (who Theodore distained) and both of them blackmailing Dumbledore. It wasn’t very realistic, and Harry couldn’t actually fathom Snape and Hagrid working together for anything, and if Snape was truly close to Dumbledore as Lucius said he was, then why would Snape want to blackmail the Headmaster? 

They had decided to take a well-deserved break, and Theo had demanded they go outside to watch the practises. 

Ravenclaw were flying at the moment. Every time someone made a dive or threw the Quaffle, or swung their bat, Theo would leap into the air, cheering or shouting profanities demanding on if he agreed with the movement or not. Harry watched passively, smiling fondly up at his excited friend, and wishing Draco had decided to join them. The blond refused to spend time near the ‘traitor’, and so Harry only really saw the boy during classes with the Slytherins. And that was only if Draco was quicker than Theodore to pair up with him. 

It upset Harry, who had grown so use to only spending his time with Draco and Evan, to now spend most of his time without the both of them. But if Draco wanted to be immature, he could be. Harry had lived half of his life alone, and he was fine being alone. He had Theodore, so he couldn’t really be said to be _alone_ , not like he was at that Muggle school. If he had to be without Draco, well he loved his friend, his first real friend, but he wasn’t going to curl up and cry at the loss of him. They slept in separate parts of the castle for Merlin’s sake! They hardly saw each other anyway. Harry would get along just fine without the blond. 

“Oh shit, did you see that!” Theo shouted, clapping his hands together. Apparently, while Harry had been daydreaming, the Slytherin Quidditch team had arrived on the pitch and tried to force the Ravenclaws to leave. Adam Bradley had just been punched in the face. Harry winced as he looked down from the stands. The Chaser had been kind to him, offering him a seat at the Ravenclaw table every morning for his first week at school. Even now that Harry had made his own friends, the elder boy still smiled and waved at him whenever they caught each other’s eyes. 

“That has got to hurt,” Harry said sympathetically. “Your House sucks.”

Theo grunted in agreement. He was half leaning out over the teachers box where they were sitting, trying to get a better view of the fight. By now, Adam’s friend, Benjamin had thrown two hexes of his own and the Slytherins had resorted to simply tackling the other Chaser and pinning him down while Marcus Flint kicked him. The rest of the Ravenclaw and Slytherin teams joined in, and for a handful of minutes it was an out and out brawl. 

Harry contemplated firing down a hex, something painful but not permanent, just to snap both sides of out it. But he didn’t want to draw attention to Theodore. The Ravenclaws might not attack him just for being a Slytherin, but they wouldn’t defend him either. He would probably end up on the wrong side of a few of those Slytherin’s wands though, because of the actions of his father when Theo was only a baby. Harry didn’t want to get his friend hurt, so he clenched his hands and kept his wand firmly in his pocket. 

“What in Merlin’s name is going on here?” Someone yelled. Harry gasped as Professor Flitwick, Snape and Madam Hooch appeared on the pitch. Flitwick was panting softly and Snape was scowling as usual, but Hooch was practically glowing from righteous indignation. “How dare you all! Fighting like common Muggles, and on my Quidditch pitch no less. Have you no respect?”

“I would have expected better from you,” Snape drawled, his voice low and harsh. The Slytherins flinched. Snape’s eyes drifted to the Ravenclaws, whom Flitwick was in the process of telling off. “Had I any reason to think there were brains in those thick heads of yours. How dare you make yourselves look bad? In front of an audience, no less.” His gaze drifted up to Harry and Theo, locking onto the boy’s green eyes, and Harry met his stare unflinchingly, and smiled that terrifying smile Evan had taught him. Snape dragged his eyes away. “Some example you have set. Ten points from Slytherin.”

Ravenclaw had lost a total of fifty points, and the Charms Professor was insistent that they leave the pitch and give up the following days practise as punishment. Severus wasn’t going to take away a practise from the Slytherin team, because honestly they were atrocious players. They had won all of their games for the past handful of years by brute strength and cheap tricks alone. They needed all the practise they could get. 

“Leave, now.”

“But Professor!” Montague tried to plead. 

“What part of ‘leave’ was not understandable?” Snape hissed. “Get off of this pitch, and get out of my sight. Now.” He turned from them, his robes snapping around his feet as he strode back the way he had come, followed by the other two professors. 

The Ravenclaws wondered off glumly, heading back to the broom closet and the changing rooms. Some of the Slytherins followed their lead, but Montague and Flint scowled at one another and threw their brooms down onto the ground petulantly. 

Marcus bent down to pick up his broom, but suddenly Harry had an idea. 

He had been reading ahead in some of his classes. Evan always liked it when Harry was prepared for class and Harry loved the feeling of getting a spell right on the first try simply because he had read the theory. There was no better feeling than _knowing_ something. Evan had tried to teach him some darker spells, like he ‘ _Cruciatus_ ’ but Harry hadn’t been able to dreg up the anger necessary to perform it correctly. 

He grinned. He thought he might have this one perfected, and so far he hadn’t been able to practise for fear that Hogwarts’ wards would pick up on the Dark magic. But the Quidditch pitch was outside of the wards, and technically off of Hogwarts’ grounds as well. 

He raised his wand, pointing it down at Marcus Flint. “ _Imperio_ ,” he hissed under his breath. From the corner of his eye, Harry notice Theodore’s head snap around. Wide brown eyes stared at his face and then his wand as Harry waited to see if the spell had worked. 

Flint went still, and tense, and he remained half bent over with his hand outstretched towards the broom. 

“Leave it there,” Harry whispered. Marcus heard the words, they echoed inside of his head. The Slytherin stood up and straightened out his robes. “Tell your friend to leave his broom as well. Go back into the castle.” Flint grabbed hold of Montague’s sleeve and began to drag him away from the two brooms. When the Slytherin beater tried to protest, Flint promised that everything was ok, that the brooms where meant to stay there, insisted they had to go inside right now. Harry watched them go, smirking as Montague shouted at his friend for acting crazy, but allowed himself to be led inside regardless. 

“What did you do?” Theo’s voice was soft, and his eyes were huge and round when Harry turned to meet them. He looked like a fawn caught in the bright gaze of some predator. 

“You don’t have to be afraid of me.” Harry promised him. “In ‘ **Hogwarts: A History** ’ it says first years cannot join the Quidditch team, as such, first years cannot know the password to take brooms out of the broom closest unless there is a Professor present. I thought you might enjoy going for a fly, since you were so focused on their practise earlier.”

Theo gaped at him. “You did this for me?” The boy asked, before throwing Harry a huge grin. “Whoever gets there first gets the better broom!” He hollered, already running towards the stairs. Harry followed sedately. He wasn’t really interested in flying, he usually just lay on he broom and let it float him around in the air, but there was no doubt that Theo would want a practise game of some sort. Harry figured it would only be fair to let Theo have first pick of the brooms as well, since this was a treat for him. 

When Harry finally reached the ground, Theo was already mounted on a broom, hovering just a few centimetres in the air. “Come on Harry,” he called, waving the other boy over. 

Theo loved to fly, but in all honesty he wasn’t very good at it. The simple movement of raising his hand to wave at Harry was enough to set him off balance, and if not for the fact that he was so close to he ground, he might have actually wobbled enough to knock him from the broom. 

“Be careful,” Harry said softly, as he threw a leg over his own broom. It rose steadily into the air as soon as he was seated on it. Theo frowned at the ease with which Harry rode his broomstick. The boy didn’t even appear to be trying. Even Draco had looked like he was paying more attention during the Slytherin flying lessons. 

The first time Harry had flown, he had easily outstripped Draco in more than just speed. The blond had refused to talk to Harry for the rest of the day, claiming that he had lied about it being his first flying experience so he could make himself look good. Eventually, Lucius had grown bored of Draco’s petulance and calmly explained that sometimes Wizards were simply ‘naturals’. Harry’s father had been one. James had been spectacular on a broom, one of the best Seekers to ever go through Hogwarts, and if it hadn’t been for the war against Voldemort, James might have very easily gone professional. Draco had accepted that Harry might be a ‘natural’ flier, but that was only after Harry had appeased him by promising never to join the Slytherin Quidditch team when they got to Hogwarts. Draco wanted to be their Seeker!

“Want to play a game?” Theo asked as he wobbled his way into the air. 

“What kind of game?” Harry asked. He flew lazy circles around Theodore, keeping close enough to catch the boy just in case, but far enough away as to not knock him down by accident. 

Theo pulled out a golden ball from his robe pocket. “My brother sent it to me.” He handed the Golden Snitch to Harry, who swept forward and plucked it nimbly. 

“Terrance? Does he not go to Hogwarts?” Harry asked softly. Suddenly, he realized that he had never seen the boy nor had any of the Slytherins ever said anything about him.

“Our father insisted he be home schooled. I was, well,” Theo coughed uncomfortably. “My father likes my brother more than me, so when my Hogwarts letter came, father was happy to accept my place here. Terrance has to be home schooled.” 

Theo’s face was turned away, and he was biting down on his bottom lip. Harry remembered what Evan had said about Theaodore Nott being a drunk and taking out the brunt of his anger over his wife’s death on his eldest son. When Theo said their father ‘likes’ Terrance more than Theodore, Harry didn’t think that meant anything good for the elder boy. 

“Oh,” he said at last. He twirled the snitch around in his hand before releasing it. He didn’t think it was a good idea to let Theo play a one-on-one Seekers match, but the boy looked so downtrodden that Harry couldn’t bring himself to say no. He’d go slow, play carefully, and he’d keep an eye out for Theo in case the boy did fall off of his broom. Broken bones could be fixed, Harry thought. He only had to make sure Theo didn’t break his neck. 

Fifteen minutes later, and Theo actually did fall off of his broom. Harry had caught sight of the snitch seven times since they had started playing, but he wanted to let Theo win. Finally, finally, Theo had noticed it hovering directly above the ground. He dived down towards it, and at first Harry thought he was pulling a Wronski Defensive Feint, but then he also saw the flash of gold against the grass. And he noticed that Theo was leaning too far forward on the broom, which meant he wouldn’t be able to pull up in time, which meant he was going to hit the ground headfirst and break his neck. 

Harry dived immediately, tilting forward on his broom and speeding towards his friend.

Theodore seemed to realise he was going to crash as well, because he threw himself backwards, still six feet from the ground, and fell off of his broom, free falling. From that height, he wouldn’t kill himself. But with the speed he had been going, it would hurt like hell. 

A hand caught him by the scruff of his robes, and suddenly he was rising again. Harry pulled off the Feint perfectly, and began hauling Theo up onto the broom in front of him. As Harry steered the broom lower, easing them into a landing, his hand snapped out grabbing at air without even looking. 

Theo dismounted the broom with a shamed smile. “Sorry bout that.” He whispered. “Ruining the game, and all.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Harry told him, uncurling the fingers of his left hand. In the palm of his hand was the snitch. He had caught it as they landed, and he handed it over to his friend with a smile. “I believe this belongs to you.” 

Theo took it, a smile blossoming over his face. “You won. I knew you would win.” He paused and scuffed his shoe against the ground. “But it was fun right, wasn’t it?” The eleven-year-old asked hesitantly. 

“It was.” And Harry, who didn’t really like playing Quidditch, said, “we should do it again.” 

Before Theodore could say anything else, Harry heard someone calling his name. He turned to face the direction the voice was coming from. There was a Ravenclaw sitting in the stands, who had probably been there since the Ravenclaw team and the Slytherin team stopped fighting and left. Harry tensed, wondering if it were possible that they noticed him using an Unforgivable Curse. 

“Harry!” Roger Davis panted. He was jumping down the benches, rather than taking the stairs. It was quicker, but the fact that he was running and shouting at the same time was enough to put anyone out of breath. “Where did you learn to do that?”

Harry shrugged lightly. 

“You aren’t supposed to be on a broom without a Professor near by!” He scolded. “How did you get the brooms?”

“Two Slytherins left them behind after you guys fought.” Theo piped up, his head hanging so that he wouldn’t accidentally meet the older boy’s eyes. 

“You could get into a lot of trouble, Harry.” Roger warned him gently. “But I think I have a way to keep you from being expelled.” 

Harry’s eyes had widened at the world ‘expelled’. He couldn’t be expelled. He couldn’t be! There were so many great things he had planned to do, and he would never be able to achieve them without a formal education. He supposed he could go to Durmstrang, but his expulsion would be on his permanent record and who would hire him then? What would the Dark Lord think? If the man did decide to take him on as an Heir and a partner, how would he react knowing that someone like Harry, someone who was smart and had a future of such magnitude waiting, had thrown it all away to make someone else happy? What sentimental Hufflepuff bullshit. Harry cursed at himself mentally. The Dark Lord would not be pleased. Evan wouldn’t be pleased! His heart skipped a beat as he thought of how unpleased Lucius would be. He didn’t know why, but the thought of Lucius not liking him anymore hurt more than the thought of being on the receiving end of Evan Rosier’s anger.

“I don’t want to be expelled.” He said after a moment of silence. 

“I know you don’t,” Roger told him with a sly grin. “And that’s why you have to do what I say.”

 _XXX_

September 30th 1991. Hogwarts. 

It was the following Monday before all of the arrangements had been made. Harry had written to Evan, who had undoubtedly shared the news with Lucius, but judging from the lack of temper tantrums Draco was indulging in, no one had informed the young blond. Harry swallowed nervously. He had put it off long enough and no he had to tell his friend. 

He made his way towards the Slytherin table. Theo sat on one end, closet to the teachers and pretty much ignored by everyone, but he sat up straighter and waved at Harry as the boy walked passed him. 

“Hi Draco,” Harry said softly. 

“Oh, it’s you,” the boy drawled, turning his head slowly to face his friend. He tried to appear uninterested, as that annoying Parkinson girl giggled and clung to his arm, but Harry could see the flush of excitement on his face. And the curiosity that burned in his eyes. This was the first time Harry had spoken to the blond Malfoy in almost a week. “What do you want?”

“I need to talk to you. In private,” Harry added when Draco made no move to leave the table. 

“What about?” Draco asked, slowly following his friend from the Great Hall. 

Just as they reached the doors, a flock of owls appeared overhead. Most everyone’s mail had been delivered that morning, but what Harry was due to receive was rather a bit bigger than just letters and such. It took seven owls to carry the parcel in through a window and then over towards Harry. Draco gaped up at the long, obviously shaped package with shock. 

“About that.” Harry plucked the wrapped up broomstick from the owls’ grasp. They hooted at him once, and together they dive-bombed the nearest table, which were the Hufflepuffs, and began helping themselves to some bacon. “Come on then,” Harry said, taking Draco by the arm and pulling. 

It was just Harry’s rotten luck that made it possible for Ron Weasley to walk into the Great Hall just as the two others were trying to leave. His blue eyes landed on the parcel, immediately guessing what was inside, and he shouted, “Potter! You aren’t allowed to have a broom!” 

Whispers started up around the room. Girls giggled and boys predicted that Harry was going to get expelled. Ron looked murderous and Draco’s face wasn’t much different. The blond was eyeing the broom with anger and he snapped grey eyes to Harry’s sheepish face. 

“And you couldn’t have gotten me one?” The blond demanded. 

“Well you aren’t on a team,” Harry whispered back, trying to defend himself. “And I didn’t buy this!” 

“I did.” Professor Flitwick had pushed his way into the group of three boys and he turned to Ron first. “There was absolutely no need for your nosiness or your loud-mouth exclamation. Subtlety is the way to go, my boy. Five points from Gryffindor for ruining a perfectly good surprise. Harry, maybe you should go hide that broomstick. Nimbus 2000’s are rather expensive and we wouldn’t want anything to happen to it before Ravenclaw’s first Quidditch match.” 

“December 14th!” Someone from the Ravenclaw table shouted. Harry didn’t recognize her, but he guessed she was on the team too. 

Roger Davis shouted across the hall as well, “against Slytherin!” Usually, this would have been a bad thing. But this year the Slytherins were having their first match against Gryffindor in November, so hopefully they would be pretty much all out of cruelty for the Ravenclaw match. And anyway, this year they had Harry Potter: youngest Seeker in a century, on the team. Despite the fact that the boy had no formal training or experience, he had caught every snitch Davis asked him to that Saturday, and the rest of the senior team were satisfied that Harry simply couldn’t lose. 

“Yes, yes,” Filius agreed cheerfully, “It should be an interesting match. Now, carry on, boys.” He waved Draco and Harry out of the doors, and with a hand on Ron’s shoulder made sure the redhead couldn’t follow. 

“What the bloody hell!” Draco hissed angrily. 

“It’s not my fault! I’m sorry! Don’t be mad! I would have told you sooner but I was sworn to secrecy! I don’t even want to be on the team!” Harry spat them out one after the other, not giving Draco any time to process the words. 

“What happened?” Draco asked, a sneer on his face. 

“Theo and I were just messing around. He fell, and I caught him, and the Ravenclaw Captain saw me do the Wronski Feint and he insisted I had to join the team. I would have been expelled otherwise! He lied to Professor Dumbledore, Draco. He told him that I was practising under his supervision, but Roger said I had to be on the team or he’d tell the truth!” Harry whined. He didn’t want to be on the team, he hated playing Quidditch most of the time, but he wanted to be expelled even less. 

“That sneak, son of a bitch,” Draco cursed. He gave a whistle of appreciation. “He could have been a Slytherin. Though, when you didn’t tell me straight away, I should have guessed it had something to do with that traitor.”

“Draco stop calling him that. It wasn’t Theo’s fault.”

Draco ignored him. They were outside of the Slytherin common room now, and neither of them thought it would be a good idea to bring the Houses’ newest competitor inside of the snake den, so to speak. Outside of the entrance, Draco began ripping the paper off of the broom. Harry watched him silently; not at all bothered that Draco was opening _his_ gift from _his_ Head of House. 

“It’s a work of art!” The boy breathed out. He had last years newest model, and since he couldn’t play Quidditch till the following year, his father had refused to buy him a Nimbus 2000. The 2001 model was due next September, and Draco would be damned if he didn’t at least own that one!

“It’s alright, I suppose.” Harry acquiesced. 

“Alright? Alright! It’s magnificent. Look at those bristles, see how straight they are? And the polish on the handle. And look! It’s even engraved with the model… and you’re name is on it, Harry!” Draco’s hands were running up and down the length of the broom and Harry’s face flushed red as it reminded him of something else he had seen on late night television once. 

He coughed and turned his face away. “Shall I leave you and the broom alone?” He teased in a pretty good impression of that whats-his-name actor’s bedroom voice. 

Draco obviously hadn’t seen much, if any, late night TV, since he completely missed the point of Harry’s teasing. “It’s your broom. Why would I keep it?” He handed the broom back with a frown. 

“Never mind,” Harry said, shaking his head. “Look I better go hide this before class starts. I’ll see you in Herbology later.” That was the only class the Ravenclaws shared with the Slytherins, outside of their flying lessons. When Draco was quicker than Theodore, he got to pair up with Harry. 

When Harry entered his common room, his broom held loosely in one hand, he almost didn’t believe his eyes. Immediately, he tightened his grip on the Nimbus 2000, holding it protectively against his chest. Practically every Ravenclaw was gathered, packing tightly into the common room, and all eyes turned to land on Harry as the statue stepped aside to let him enter. 

“Uh…?” Harry said softly, eyes sweeping around for any possible way to escape the throng of people and hide his broom, grab his bag, and run. 

“CONGRATULATIONS!” they shouted as one. The sound was almost deafening, and Harry winced, clutching his ear with his free hand. Roger Davis ran over, pumping his hand enthusiastically. 

“That was brilliant. At breakfast. What Weasley did!” He said excitedly. “It was the perfect way to show off to the Slytherins. We couldn’t just come out and tell them, and it felt a bit cowardly hiding you away after you actually had a decent broom. But this, that, what happened it was brilliant.” 

“Uh, look thanks Roger, but I’m going to be late for Transfigurations, and you know how McGonagall gets.” Roger nodded sympathetically, and he even escorted Harry towards the first year dorm. 

Other players on the team reached out to shake his hand or pat him on the back as he passed. One girl, who was Asian and rather pretty, but very young looking, scowled at him as he went by her and turned her face away. A red haired girl, who was obviously her friend, copied her, snubbing Harry as well even though she kept trying to watch him from the corner of her eyes.

“Cho Chang and Marietta Edgecombe,” Benjamin Chambers told the first year. “Don’t worry about them. Cho was going to be Seeker. She tried out a fortnight ago, but you’re just so much better. We made her reserve, and she isn’t very happy with it.” He shrugged his shoulders lightly, giving Harry a wide smile. “Anyway, enjoy Transfigurations.” 

Harry was about to walk up the stairs to his dorm, when the meaning of Ben’s words hit him like a tonne of bricks. Benjamin and Roger watched him worriedly. Harry’s back was stiff and he walked up the stairs slowly, his free hand clenched at his side.

He had Transfigurations. With the Gryffindors. 

With Ron.

Harry sighed and wondered silently if the two fifth years would bother waiting for him. If they didn’t, he could possibly get away with hiding in his dorm for the duration of his first class. He really didn’t want to deal with the shit Ron was going to try and pull. No doubt, also, Hermione Granger would want to give her opinion. While she hadn’t bothered him at all since their first flying lesson, she probably wouldn’t be able to help herself now. Once a busybody, always a busybody. If Ron drew attention to it, Hermione would need to make a comment. She wouldn’t be able to help herself. 

Harry grabbed his book bag, and made his way back down the stairs. It would be all right, he thought, as long as those Gryffindors don’t land him in detention tonight. He had a Quidditch practise that evening. 

When he got to the bottom of the stairs he was relieved to note that most of the common room had cleared out, and that neither of the boys who had walked him over were waiting for him. Unfortunately, Cho Chang was. Harry could tell by the pinched look on her face that what she wanted to say to him wasn’t going to be pleasant. 

“Get it over with,” he told her, crossing his arms over his chest impatiently. 

Instead of speaking, she reached up and slapped him right across the face. Harry’s head turned to one side with the force of her slap, and he blinked stupidly for a moment before turning back to face her. She was crying now, fat tears streaming down her cheeks. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but she beat him to it. 

A wail, worthy of moaning Myrtle, left her throat and then she sobbed loudly. “You are a horrible boy!” She told him, loudly. And whoever was left in the common room turned to look at him. 

Harry stormed passed them all. Let them think what they liked, he didn’t care. He wouldn’t let the ridiculous conclusions of those pathetic children bother him in the slightest. He walked silently to the Transfiguration classroom. The rest of his dorm mates were already inside and so were the Gryffindor first years. 

He waited, with his hand on the doorknob, and took a deep breath to calm himself. He pushed open the door and went inside. Once he was seated, Ron Weasley leant forward, shouting at him from the desk behind. 

“Oi Potter! Care to explain?” His voice was nasally, and it grated on Harry’s already frayed nerves. 

He dropped forward, uncaring of who was watching and let his head bang painfully off of the table. He was having such a bad day. And it was only first period. 

By lunchtime, he was sure he’d actually kill someone. 

**XXX**

Chapter 15: In the previous chapter, I had, “‘And because he is a merciful Lord, he forgave.’ Harry whispered.” written. Only a handful of people got the point, which was that I was taking the piss out of Canon!GoF and Voldemort’s speech during his resurrection. I wanted to point out to the one person who complained quite vocally about Voldemort being ‘nice’… he isn’t nice. He is a bastard. He will kill and torture people, including Harry and his own followers. But he had a huge ego and loves himself, and he thinks death is the worst thing imaginable. To Voldemort, not killing someone is actually being merciful (when in fact most people would rather die than suffer through Voldemort’s torture methods).


	18. Chapter 17

**Words:** 3,955  
 **Chapter 17**  
October 12th 1991. Hogwarts.

The moon was full, so perhaps it wasn’t the best time to go for a walk through the Forbidden Forest. But Harry was with Evan, and Evan would never let anything hurt his child. Once they had gone a certain distance into the forest, Evan had warned Harry firmly that they were to both stay on the path that had been beaten into the ground by centuries of use. 

“Some creatures out here won’t mind our presence,” Evan said softly, “and some will. Stay out of their territories unless the Gamekeeper is with you. The Giant usually managed to stay safe enough,” Evan grumbled. 

Harry giggled lightly, ignoring the annoyance in Evan’s voice during the mention of Hagrid. Harry rather liked the man. He was entertaining. He supposed his idea of entertainment at his age was a bit different to what Evan’s would be. The adults usually thought Hagrid was a magical disgrace, but Harry had enjoyed the time Hagrid got drunk on Butterbeer and set his hut alight. He had stood, silently, outside of the hut and watched it burn. It was only when he realised Hagrid was unconscious **inside** the burning hut, did Harry cast ‘ _Aguamenti_ ’ and put out the flames. His detention the following night for being caught out after hours had been totally worth it, especially since it was with Hagrid, and the man was tripping over himself to be extra kind to Harry when he was told the boy had saved his life. Harry had rather liked the feeling, and the look of awe on Hagrid’s face. He wondered if that was something like what it felt like to be a Dark Lord? 

A rustling in the bushes caught Harry’s attention. He snapped his head around, but only caught a flash of blue before it disappeared into the trees. He frowned, but kept his tongue. As Evan had said, while they were on the path, so far nothing had bothered them. A clearing up ahead drew Harry’s attention next. There were voices, lots of different ones, and he could tell Evan had noticed as well by the tightening of the man’s mouth. 

“Evan?” He asked tentatively. 

“Just walk on, Caen.” Rosier told him. “Don’t look.” 

But Harry just had to look, especially when he heard the whispers of his name. 

“Oh Evan, look!” Harry suddenly exclaimed, pointing towards a clearing to the right of the path they were walking. “Centaurs.”

The flash of blue that Harry had seen earlier turned out to be the colour of the herd leaders flank and tail. His torso was pale white, and the hair on his head was blue as well. His arms folded over his chest, and he shifted sideways, four legs moving together, until he was blocking the view of most of his herd. They watched from further away, whispering Harry’s name, eyes wide on the Death Eater beside the boy. The Centaur cocked a finger at Harry, his eyes on Evan watching him warily, but the Death Eater was still walking. 

“Can we go over?” Harry asked. He hesitated, staring towards the Centaurs, but he wanted Evan’s permission. Evan was the one who would have to protect him if anything went wrong. The least he could do is wait for Evan to agree. 

Evan turned to where Harry was looking, and sure enough a herd of Centaurs were gathered together, watching the humans pass by. “Keep away from them.” Evan warned the child. “They won’t appreciate you straying into their territory.”

The blue Centaur titled its head in curiosity. He remained silent as the child he had feared was being hurt by the Death Eater remained unharmed by his side. He turned away from the humans then, nodding his head at his herd. He had relaxed more, but some were still tense and wary, still glaring until the humans passed from sight. 

Harry gave a scoff, but allowed Evan to push him along the path, away from the creatures. “They’re amazing! I wouldn’t hurt them.” The child proclaimed, frowning over his shoulder at the herd that were slowly leaving the clearing. 

“I know you wouldn’t. But they would hurt you, Caen.” Rosier told him. 

They walked silently for a while, shoulder brushing and fingers touching lightly with every other step. “Why?” Harry asked after a while. “I never did anything to them.”

“But you’re a Wizard, are you not?” The Death Eater gave a chilling grin, his head turning so that he could look down on his child. “That’s all the reason they desire, love.” 

“Why though?” 

Evan chuckled lightly. Harry’s face was scrunched up in confusion, and indignation. He wanted to make friends with the Centaurs Merlin-damn-it, so why couldn’t he? Why wouldn’t the Centaurs like him? He was the Boy-Who-Lived, and a relatively nice guy: everyone liked him (almost). 

“My poor naive Caen,” Evan cooed, reaching out to stroke the boy’s check lightly. “I sometimes forget that you are only eleven. A mere child. Fickle, pure and trusting.” Another chuckle escaped his mouth as the boy’s eyes narrowed slightly. “But don’t worry, you’ll grow out of it.”

Evan pressed a kiss to the top of the child’s head, before continuing to walk. Harry rolled his eyes in annoyance. But he followed his father silently. 

_XXX_

October 31st 1991. Hogwarts. 

1The month of Samhain was drawing to a close. The Festival feast was already laid out on the tables before them. The students cluttered around the Hall, grinning widely behind their paper masks and from beneath their pointed uniform hats. Food was gathered and placed on to paper plates, and many of the students chose to walk away from their House tables and sit instead by the burning hearth directly before the Staff table. 

The ceiling of the Great Hall shone brightly with enchanted stars. Every couple of minutes, a firework would go off outside and the lights would flash through the windows and across the enchanted ceiling. 

Harry watched everything with wide green eyes. 

He had been raised by a Wizard, but never in a Magical household. He had no idea that celebrations could look like this. Every thing was beautiful and bright and Harry could practically feel the magic thrumming all around him. The veil between the living and the dead was thin, for that night only, and the ghosts of Hogwarts were much livelier than usual. They ran (well, floated extra fast) and sang and passed in and out of various students making the human’s shudder and scream. Harry watched it all with a smile. 

Lucius had sent his mask to him the night before. The accompanying letter had been rather welcome. 

Harry had spent a while thinking on the man since Evan’s last visit. Evan had taken Harry’s hand and kissed the back of it, like Lucius had always been prone to doing, and had then told Harry that the blond Lord was thinking always of him. Harry didn’t think he could have blushed harder if he had tried. Which was silly, actually, since Lucius hadn’t even been present. But Harry had truly appreciated the gift. Draco was wearing a similar one, his face hidden by green gauze and silk, as he spun Pansy Parkinson around and around the bonfire in circles. 

Harry’s eyes and forehead were covered complete. The fabric was black satin, and the holes for his eyes were rimmed in green silk. Green gauze hung down from the edge of the mask, creating a veil over his nose and mouth, tinting his pale skin the colour of his eyes. 

Originally, the Headmaster had wanted to have a traditional end of term feast. The Pureblooded children were allowed to go home for the weekend to celebrate Samhain with their parents and family, while the Muggleborns and Half bloods enjoyed Halloween at Hogwarts. Harry, as a Half blood, apparently wasn’t allowed to leave the school for Samhain since he lived with Muggles. Incidentally, Lucius wanted him to enjoy the holiday, as much as Harry wanted to enjoy it. 

Lucius and the other eleven members of the Board of Governors had agreed that for this year they would have a traditional Samhain celebration (damn the Mudbloods and their Christian ways), and if it worked out well, then they’d do it again next year. Dumbledore hadn’t been happy. After all, he was the one who had gotten rid of the practise in 1956 when he became Headmaster. But there had been nothing he could do. 

Harry was rather glad of that fact. 

It was turning out to be a brilliant night. No one looked to be having a bad time. There was a group of children bobbing for apples in the corner of the Hall, capturing their prize in their teeth and offering it to their significant other. Some children were burning parchment, having written a wish on it, and watching it crumble to ashes in the flames of the bonfire. Others were hanging out of the windows, or gathering outside on the grass, to watch Hagrid set off the fireworks. 

Theodore was sitting at the table next to Harry. His face was bare, and the light of the flames flickered over his eyes and made them sparkle. Harry watched him with a frown, noticing the rabid way Theodore was watching a pink haired girl make her way towards the Headmaster. He was sitting at the teacher’s table, starring intently at Harry. 

“What’s the matter?” Harry asked calmly, completely content to ignore the weight of the Headmaster’s gaze. 

“Do you know that girl? She’s wearing the uniform, but I’ve never seen her before.” Theo frowned heavily. He was unsure why, but he was very suspicious about her presence. 

“I think we would notice someone with pink hair walking around the school.” Harry narrowed his eyes on her face when she turned to leave the Hall. “Doesn’t she look a little old to still be in Hogwarts?” The two of them watched her go, their eyes locked on her back. 

The moment she was out of the Hall, a stranger ran inside. No one Harry knew, or asked after the fact, had recognized him. He was tall and bald, with dark coloured skin, and he accent was heavy but not recognizable. 

“Help! Help! There’s a troll near the Ravenclaw dormitory!” He shouted. He was panting and flailing his arms about, but Harry didn’t really think he looked all that scared. His eyes narrowed as the stranger stared over at Dumbledore. Harry turned to face the Headmaster, just in time to watch the old man nod. At the nod, the stranger stopped shouting and pretended to faint. 

“Everyone calm down!” Dumbledore said loudly. With a wave of his wand the fire was put out and the decorations disappeared. “Follow your Prefects to your dormitories and lock yourselves inside. Stay calm. Do not panic. We have every thing under control.”

 _We have_ , Harry thought to himself. Not we _will_ have. 

“Come on,” Harry told Theo, as he grabbed him by the hand. “Something strange is going on here, and I’m not about to head back to my dorm when that’s apparently where the Troll is. And isn’t it odd that a Troll, stupider than the definition, managed to get inside of Hogwarts all by itself?”

“You think someone let it inside?” Theodore asked quietly, even as he dragged Harry over to the cluster of Slytherin students making their way to the dungeons. 

Draco noticed his presence and grinned widely. A frown settled on his face at the sight of Theodore though. “Harry! Are you coming with us?”

“Yes.” He told the blond, casting a wary look around the hallway before saying more. “I think they’re doing something. I don’t know what, but it’s some kind of game the Headmaster is playing. And I don’t want to play along.” 

Draco scowled as Theo reached over to wrap an arm around Harry’s shoulders comfortingly. “It’ll be fine. We’ll take care of you.” The brunette whispered. 

“Yeah!” Draco said loudly, bumping Theodore out of the way. “I’m sure father can have a word with the old fool. There’s no way father or I would let anything happen to you.” He purposely didn’t include Theo’s name. 

They were suddenly pushed aside by a crying Hufflepuff. She was a quiet girl who barely spoke to anyone, but Harry remembered seeing Hermione with her once or twice.

“Mr. Potter,” she stuttered, looking up at him from beneath her fringe. “Have you seen Hermione? I can’t find her anywhere. I have to go to my dorm, and I don’t think she was in the Great Hall, because the last I saw her Weasley made her cry and she ran off, but that was **before** the festival started, so she won’t know about the Troll!” When she finally stopped speaking, she took a deep breath, gasping in air as she fought not to burst into tears. “Please help me?”

Harry wasn’t sure if she was genuinely looking for the other girl, or if she had been sent by Dumbledore to convince Harry to help search and thereby throw him in the path of the Troll for whatever crazy reason had allowed Dumbledore to set loose a Troll in a school full of children (probably the same reason that allowed him to hide a Cerberus on the third floor), but Harry didn’t want to risk Hermione’s life because of a suspicion. She wasn’t his friend, and he wasn’t willing to die for her (or for anyone except Evan actually), but he didn’t think he would be seriously harmed. Dumbledore had said it was under control, so perhaps he was only testing Harry. To see if the boy was worthy of being a Gryffindor or some other such nonsense? He could have to speak to Evan about the old man’s manipulative tendencies later, he promised himself. 

“Fine, I’ll help you look.” He told her and took off running in the direction of the Ravenclaw dorms. No doubt that was where the Troll would be. If he happened to find Hermione on the way, it was all well and good, and if not, then at least he’d find out what the hell Albus Dumbledore wanted him to do. 

Draco caught up to him a little while later. The boy was red faced and shaking. “Are you insane?” He shouted, reaching out to shake Harry’s shoulders. “You could be killed.”

“We could be killed,” Harry corrected, even though he didn’t think that was true. 

“There is no ‘we’.” Draco told him firmly. “I have come to shake sense in to you, and if that fails, I’ll leave you here on your own and mourn for you after you’ve _been killed_!” His voice grew in pitch as he spoke, until eventually he was simply whining at his friend, filled with terror. “Please don’t go looking for the Mudblood. Please just come back and hide with us?”

“I don’t hide. I will not hide.” Harry hissed, and his hands clenched at his sides. There had never been any point hiding from his uncle, so he had never bothered. And he had no need to hide from Evan. Why would he want to start hiding now, now that he was supposedly in the safest place in Britain? Only cowards hid. Future Dark Lords were not cowards. 

“Are you coming or not?” He spat out, and turned away before Draco could even answer. 

When Draco caught up next it was just in time to see Harry lock the Troll into a bathroom. A sudden scream from inside the room had Harry cursing in annoyance, and he hurriedly undid the locking spell. The door flew open, but the Troll didn’t try to leave. Instead it continued to swing its club at Hermione’s head. She screamed again, ducking beneath a sink and prayed loudly that she wouldn’t die. 

“ _Expulso_!” Harry screamed waving his wand at the club the Troll was about to bash Hermione’s head in with. The club exploded into pieces. A rather large piece came flying through the air and would have impaled itself in Draco’s head if not for the fact that someone suddenly tackled him from behind. 

The blond looked up in shock, trembling wildly, and blushed red as his eyes met Theodore’s. “Thanks,” Draco whispered. 

“You’re welcome.”

Theo stood and hurriedly unsheathed his wand. He joined Harry, casting as many distracting spells as he could, while Harry tried to drag Hermione out from under her hideaway. Draco cast a few spells of his own, but Theodore mostly distracted him. He watched the other boy warily, his eyes narrowed in calculation and he tried to figure out if he had been wrong about the other boy. 

He had saved Draco’s life, and he was trying to save Harry’s as well. He doesn’t act very much like a traitor, Draco thought. 

The Troll suddenly had Harry by the scruff of his neck. He lifted the boy easily from the ground and flung him sideways with a grunt of anger. Harry’s wand clattered to the ground by Hermione’s feet, and the boy slumped to the floor a little way away from her. With trembling fingers she picked up his wand, and pointed it at him. 

“ _Ennervate_ ,” she whispered. She hoped she had gotten the pronunciation correct. They hadn’t covered this spell in class yet, but she had read about it in a fourth year’s textbook. 

Harry stirred sluggishly. 

Draco and Theodore were backed into a corner, both of them still shooting off spells, but nothing did much good against the Troll’s thick skin unless it was a very Dark spell. No one dared cast one in front of a Mudblood. 

Hermione rolled the wand forward, and Harry reached out slowly to grasp it. He rolled it in his hands, blinking owlishly at it as if he couldn’t remember what to do with it. Suddenly, he was on his feet. His face burned with the shame of having been knocked unconscious by a Troll during a “controlled” test. It was mortifying. Surely nothing like that could ever happen to Lord Voldemort! Why had he allowed it to happen to himself? 

“ _Accio_ ,” he hollered with his wand pointed at the bathroom door. It ripped from its hinges and flew towards Harry. He ducked out to the way, allowing it to slap off of the wall behind him and break into two pieces. He pointed his wand at one piece and cast, “ _Wingardium Leviosa_.”

The piece of wood rose into the air. Hurriedly, Hermione copied him and using her own wand, she charmed the second half of the door to float as well. She flicked her wand and her weapon flew into the troll’s head, knocking it flat onto the ground. 

Harry was slightly more sadistic. He manoeuvred his part of the door to hover just above the stunned Troll’s face, before lowering it with more force than necessary. Harry flicked his wrist up and down, watching with satisfaction as the Troll was beaten unconscious, every squishing noise and cracking sound brought sent a trill of satisfaction through the young boy’s body. 

When the Troll had finally stopped groaning, Harry let the wood fall and ended the spell. Hermione and Theodore were staring at him with wide eyes. Draco was watching smugly, having always known what Harry was capable of, considering that Evan and Lucius mostly trained and taught them together. The blond had always thought of Harry’s cruel streak as beautiful, especially since he never got to see it often. 

“What happened here?” Someone gasped. 

They all turned to face the horrified faces of Severus, Dumbledore and that pink haired girl from earlier. It was her who had spoken. 

“Oh God!” She cried, her hands covering her mouth. The expletive, using the name of a Christian god, hinted to the fact that she wasn’t a Pureblood. Which made it more than likely she was working for Dumbledore. “What have you done to Declan?” 

“Now my dear,” Dumbledore said with a hard look, “that will be enough of that.” He turned to Harry then. Harry, who was spattered in Troll blood, still flushed and panting with his wand raised and his face bruised from where he had been thrown into the wall. “Would you care to explain, Mr. Potter?”

“It’s my fault!” Hermione interrupted suddenly. For once, Harry welcomed her presence and the annoying trait she had of butting into other people’s conversations. Her intrusion was welcomed for once. “You see, I heard about the Troll, and I thought I could stop it. I’ve been studying spells, you see. And well, the others came to rescue me, but when Harry dropped his wand, I, I, well, I’ve heard it’s the brother wand to the one You-Know-Who uses and I wanted to see what it was like. Uh,” she flushed heavily under everyone’s disbelieving gazes, “apparently spells don’t work the way I want them to when I use other people’s wands.”

They turned to look at the completely ruined head of the Troll and then back to face Hermione. 

“I can see that, yes,” Dumbledore agreed. 

“One hundred points from Gryffindor for risking the lives of others and yourself.” Snape sneered at the look of surprise that crossed Hermione’s face. She had been so thankful to be alive, she had never thought of the consequences of her actions. She didn’t regret lying to protect Harry, because he had come to save her even though he didn’t like her, but now everyone in her House was going to hate her more than they already did.

“Yes sir,” she whispered with a sniffle. 

“Ten points from Gryffindor for using another person’s wand.” Snape added with a scowl. Harry twirled his wand lightly, considering for a moment casting something horrible on the man, but then thought better of it. For now, he just wanted to enjoy what was left of Samhain, go home tomorrow morning, and slip beneath Dumbledore’s radar for a few more months. 

“But she saved my life!” Draco shouted indignantly. It was a complete lie, but she had lied for them already, so that they wouldn’t lose House points. It wouldn’t be fair to let her lose that many on her own. He didn’t care much about Gryffindor or fair, but he could see the way that Harry’s hand was twitching around his fingers. It meant the brunette boy definitely had a problem with the way Severus was treating the other child. 

Dumbledore hummed lightly. “Twenty points to Gryffindor for selfless bravery. Very befitting of your House. I’m taking five points from the rest of you for getting yourselves in to trouble and not going straight back to your dorms.”

“Go to the Hospital wing,” Severus hissed, narrowed eyes turning on Dumbledore. He really didn’t like it when Slytherin lost house points. 

Once the adults had left them alone in the Infirmary, Harry turned to Hermione and smiled. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“Y-Your welcome, Harry.” She blushed softly, smiling back over at him hesitantly from her own bed. She sat up slowly, propped up on her elbows and whispered, “does this mean we can be friends now?”

“We’ll see.” Harry told her. The other two boys were already asleep, and Harry soon drifted off as well. 

Hermione lay back slowly. He hadn’t told her no, so it was a good sign. As of late, Harry had been quite vocal about her leaving him alone. ‘We shall see’ was as close to a yes as Hermione thought she was ever going to get. She spent most of the night simply lying there, watching Harry sleep and smiling to herself. 

It would be nice to have a friend. 

**XXX**

1 – In the Celtic calendar, Samhain was actually the name of the month. The Féile na Marbh, or Festival of the Dead, is what became later known as Halloween. Oringinally, the fesitval involved lighting hearths and slaughtering cattle and gathering crops from the field. It later involved sacrifical aspects, like offering food to gods, and masking yourselves to keep hidden from the spirits that walked the earth on that night.

Thanks to everyone who is reading :)


	19. Chapter 18

**Words:** 4,156  
 **Chapter 18**  
December 14th 1991. Hogwarts.

It was the second Quidditch match of the school year. It was the first that Harry had played in though. He hated playing enough as it was, but playing for fun and playing for sport were completely separate animals. When he was forced to play because Draco or Theo wanted him to, he didn’t really mind. 

But now that he was playing as part of the team, when there were several other team members expecting him to catch the Snitch, when a quarter of the school was betting on him to win, and when he was playing _against_ the House his two best friends were a part of, well, he didn’t like it one bit. 

In actual fact, Harry felt rather queasy. And he really didn’t want to go out onto that pitch. 

But a well-placed shove on his lower back by Roger Davis had him stumbling forward. He toppled through the doorway, and had to job slightly to stop himself falling onto the ground. The rest of the players for the Ravenclaw team filed out behind him, brooms in hand, but Harry clutched his Nimbus 2000 to his chest, knuckles white with terror. 

He had seen how badly the Slytherin Beaters had messed up Gryffindor’s Seeker in last month’s game, and Harry had absolutely no desire to end up in the Hospital Wing with his face rearranged. 

He did **not** want to do this. 

Suddenly Madam Hooch was blowing the whistle, and everyone but Harry was mounting their brooms and taking off into the air. He didn’t have a choice (he had never had a choice, it was this or expulsion), but now he had run out of time to try and avoid his fate. He swung a leg over his Nimbus and slowly took to the sky. 

The match had begun. Now Harry just had to try and catch the Snitch before he was killed. 1

 _XXX_

December 23rd 1991. Hogwarts Express. 

The whistle blew one last time as the Hogwarts Express slowed to a stop. Harry was ready and waiting with his trunk in his hand by the time the doors eased open. Draco stood next to him, a smug smile on his face as he followed his friend off of the train and onto Platform 9 and ¾. Theodore and Hermione watched the boys walk away with matching frowns. 

In the past two months, Harry had learned to tolerate Hermione’s presence. He wouldn’t say he liked her, nor did he go out of his way to seek her company, but she had developed a habit of sitting beside him in class and when he chose to eat at the Ravenclaw table and Harry just hadn’t dissuaded her this time. Theo and Harry were still good friends, but there were just some things that Theo _couldn’t_ know about, things that Draco did know, and that fact made Draco puff up with self-satisfaction. 

Draco had stopped calling Theo a ‘traitor’ ever since the boy had saved his life, but he still couldn’t quite bring himself to address the other child by name. He wasn’t cruel like he had been before and he didn’t let the other Slytherins bully Theodore anymore, but that didn’t stop Draco from dragging Harry away on occasion and leaving Theo standing forgotten with the Mudblood. 

“Boy!” A voice shouted. The noise echoed across the crowded platform, and Harry’s head snapped up as he recognized his uncle’s signature way of addressing him. Vernon Dursley waved a chubby arm above his head, eyes narrowing when Harry made no move to hurry towards him. By his side, Lucius Malfoy looked inordinately pleased. He knew how eager Evan was to get back to Number 4 and allow the Polyjuice Potion to wear off. And Harry knew it too: that’s why he usually took his sweet time when they went out in public together. 

“Hello Uncle,” the child greeted with a smile. Vernon’s hand landed heavily on Harry’s shoulder, and the fingers squeezed lightly in greeting. But he didn’t speak. He was too busy staring at the curious, nosy girl who had walked right up to him and held out her right hand. 

“Hello, my name is Hermione Granger. I’m a friend of Harry’s.” She ignored the chuckle Draco let out at the word ‘friend’, and continued to wait for the fellow Muggle to shake her hand. 

Evan Rosier sneered down at the appendage. “Stop waving that thing in my face unless you want to lose it.” He snarled after a long, uncomfortable moment of silence. He did hold his hand out to Lucius though, a wide grin stretching across his mouth at the affronted look on Hermione’s face. Lucius shook it, and Harry noticed the marble that was passed from one man to the other. It was a Portkey. “See you soon,” he told Lucius, offering him and his son a polite nod each. 

“Yes,” Lucius drawled, his eyes fixed firmly on Harry’s pale face. A blush spread across the child’s cheeks as the man took hold of his hand and kissed the back of it lightly, rubbing his lips sensuously across Harry’s knuckles. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

Evan steered Harry away, his hand back on the child’s bony shoulder. As they made their way to the exit to the Muggle train station, Harry’s eyes locked with Theo’s. The boy was standing on his own, staring longingly after Draco and Lucius who had walked together to meet Mrs. Malfoy. His gaze landed on Harry, and the brunette could see how badly Theo wanted to run after him, or Draco, or even Granger who had now met up with her own Muggle parents. 

A house elf appeared with a ‘crack’ beside Theo, and disapparated them away again. 

Evan pushed Harry forward, through the wall that acted as a barrier into Platform 9 and ¾. The boy stumbled slightly, but caught his balance after a moment and surged out of the wall calmly. Evan followed, graceful and composed as always, and began to lead the way out of Kings Cross. Harry couldn’t help but glance behind him, eyes trying to see through the wall between Platforms 9 and 10, in the hope that he could comfort Theodore Nott. The boy whose father had sent a House Elf to pick him up from school after nearly 4 months apart. Harry allowed a small frown to settle on his lips. 

He looked over at the bulky shape of his uncle and cringed. His hand tightened painfully on Evan’s arm, fingers curling into the crease of Evan’s elbow. He held on tightly, even as he sped up his steps to keep on par with Evan’s long-legged gait. 

If not for Evan, Harry didn’t want to think about what his life would be like. Maybe he would have been the one abandoned at the train station, and not Theo?

 _XXX_

December 24th 1991. Little Whinging. 

Harry lay curled against Evan’s side, too comfortable to be bothered actually getting out of bed. They were still sharing Dudley’s second bedroom, and though they had magically enlarged the bed, Harry still found himself waking up most mornings curled up on Evan’s side of the bed. The Death Eater was happy to indulge the boy; in fact he rather enjoyed the thought that Harry could trust him so unconditionally. And really, if he had a problem with their sleeping arrangements, what could he do about it? 

He wasn’t sleeping with the ungainly _other_ child that resided in the house, and he couldn’t very well send the brat to sleep outside where the neighbours might see. He did not want to even think about sleeping in the bed – or the room for that matter – where Vernon and Petunia used to fornicate, regardless of whether he was alone in the room or not. And since he had full control of Number 4 now, Evan didn’t see why he should have to sleep in the basement any longer. Sleeping with Harry was an easy way to solve his dilemma, and it was something that had worked thus far for a number of years. 

Sometimes Harry wondered why Evan chose not to share a room with Petunia. After all, wouldn’t that mean sex whenever he wanted it (because Harry didn’t doubt that Evan wouldn’t care about a trivial matter like consent), but then he thought about having sex with Petunia. Then he understood. Actually, Harry had never seen Evan consider anyone as a potential sexual partner, even though Harry knew Evan had the ‘urges’. He had woken plenty of times to the feeling of something poking against his thigh or his back, depending on how he was lying, and he found it rather amusing that Evan would usually disappear to the bathroom for some time afterwards. Harry, so far, hadn’t begun puberty and so he was temporarily spared from Evan returning the teasing. 

“Get up Harry,” Evan drawled, his voice muffled by the pillow over his face. “Don’t you have sacrifices to prepare?”

Harry gave a snort, but obediently rolled from the bed. Evan continued to lie there and Harry allowed him to, feeling charitable that morning and deciding not to force Evan from the bed with a jet of cold water. 

“Don’t even think about it,” the Death Eater mumbled. 

“Completely innocent,” Harry murmured as he shuffled from the room, still in his pyjamas. 

Yule is a winter festival that coincides with the Winter Solstice, originally celebrated by the Germanic people as a form of pagan worship. It had spread to England, long before the tradition of the Christmas Tree had been brought over by Prince Albert, and it later became a part of the Christian festival.2 Yule generally began in the last week of December and carried on until the second week of January, but the main Yule celebration now took place on December 25th, because of the adoption of the Julian calendar. 

Harry and Evan would be spending the actual Yule festival at Malfoy Manor. Since their return from Hogwarts, which had taken many of the professors by surprise as none of them ever thought Harry might want to spend time with his Muggle relatives, they had been watched by a handful of different people, all of whom Evan insisted were Order members. Harry recognized the bald, black man and the pink-haired girl, but they were the only ones he knew. The others left Harry alone, only coming into sight if Harry ever left the end of Privet Drive. He wasn’t even allowed to go to the park, or the café where his aunt worked, or to see Mrs. Figg without one of the Order members following him inconspicuously. 

Lucius had the foresight to provide them with a Portkey. If they never left the property, the Order would have no cause to worry about Harry’s whereabouts and if they Portkeyed from the back garden, then the wards wouldn’t be alerted to the use of magic. 

Harry crouched in the back garden; ignoring the hateful looks that Petunia was shooting him through the kitchen window. He was used to this part of the ritual, the waiting and hoping, and he was more than used to ignoring Petunia’s spiteful behaviour. The café was closed for the next week, so Petunia had no option but to stay at home and ruin everyone else’s Christmas cheer. 

Yule involved a sacrifice. Generally, it was to three Norse gods, but sometimes Harry liked to mix it up and add in a few other gods, ones that were closer to home. Lucius only ever worshiped the ones that could benefit his family in some way, and if he approved of Harry’s suggestions he was happy enough to include that god in the festival. The sacrifice would be drained of blood, and the blood would be kept for later in a chalice. The bringer of the sacrifice would be the one to toast the gods, and while there would only ever be one blood sacrifice, others would gather a harvest or create a flame and offer those to the gods as well. The first toast was to be drunk to Odin “for victory and power to the king”, the second to the gods Njörðr and Freyr “for good harvests and for peace”, and thirdly a beaker was to be drunk to the king himself and to the memory of departed kinsfolk. Since the Wizarding World had no King, they generally drank to the health of their Heads of Families. As Harry and Evan were celebrating with the Malfoys in the Malfoy’s home, they would be drinking to Lucius’ health as well. 

This year, it was Harry’s turn to blood the sacrifice. But first he had to find one. 

_XXX_

December 25th 1991. Malfoy Manor. 

A banquet table ran the length of the room. All kinds of different foods were piled on top of the table, so much of it and so heavy that it made the table appear to bend inwards as if it were close to buckling. Harry watched wide-eyed as Evan led him towards the top of the Dining Hall, where the Malfoy family waited. This wasn’t the first time Harry had celebrated Yule traditionally with his friend’s family, but each time seemed to be just as exciting and _new_ as the last year’s festival. 

The table was pushed up against the far wall, and Evan and Harry used the cleared area at the back of the room to make their way forward. In the centre of the room burned a large circular heath, above which some poor House Elf had hung a kettle. Something within the kettle bubbled and spat as the fire burned, and Harry cringed in sympathy at the thought of that poor Elf trying to pour the blood into the kettle while the fire burned below. 

Lucius was in the process of painting symbols onto the floor by his feet when Evan cleared his throat. “Would you like assistance?”

Lucius nodded silently, and handed over a stick of aspergills, the sacrifical twig, and together they heated the stick and continued to paint the runes on the ground with ashes. 

“Are we ready to start?” Narcissa asked softly. Harry didn’t really have much interaction with Draco’s mother. She usually prefered to spend time in France with her lover, or visit her brother-in-law’s distant relatives in Germany, since she didn’t really want to visit them, or Bellatrix, in Azkaban (horrid place that it was). But from what Harry had seen of her, she was a kind enough woman though she appeared a little cold outwardly, Harry knew she loved her son – and her husband, in a way. Also, she was more than aware of the way Lucius acted towards Harry and she had had the almost exact same conversation with him that Evan had had years ago. 

“Yes, I am ready.” Harry answered. This year was his show. 

Unashamedly, he stripped off his clothes and the moment they touched the floor they disapeared to the laundry room (or whereever the Elves had deemed to send them). He took an aspergills twig from Lucius’ outstretched hand, trying to ignore the way the man’s gaze travelled across his naked flesh, and lit the end of it by holding it over a floating candle. 

Harry walked towards the hearth. The fire burned brightly, and he leant back away from the heat and the light of it. With a flick of his wand, the kettle lowered and Harry waved the twig above the boiling liquid inside. The twig was dropped into the flames, turning to ashes within seconds, and Harry conjured the beaker towards himself. He caught the chalice in one hand, and used the wand with his other hand to tilt the kettle forward and pour half of the blood into the golden cup. He sat the cup gently down on the ground at Lucius’ feet, surrounded by the pale drawings of the runes, before he returned to the kettle. 

Harry turned to Evan, who immediately cast protective charms on his hands, and a cooling charm on the kettle. With a nod of thanks, Harry reached up to disattach the kettle from the ceiling. He carried it, still half full with some poor creatures blood, over to the table filled with food. He singled out the dishes that consisted wholy of meat, and he poured without hesitation a generous amount of blood on each of them, as if the liquid were gravy in disguise. 

When the kettle was empty, Harry discarded it on the ground and made his way back towards Lucius. He knelt at the standing man’s feet, hiding the runes from view, and he picked up the chalice and supped from it. 

“To Odin,” he said after the first mouthful. 

“To Njörðr and Freyr,” he added once he had drunk again. 

Harry looked up at Lucius threw his fringe, and blushed as he noticed the intense way Lucius was looking down at him. Harry drank again, ignoring the way Lucius’ breathing picked up as he watched Harry swallow. “And to Lord Malfoy,” the boy breathed out softly, “to his health, and his happiness, and to his kin.” He held the beaker up and Lucius took hold of it gently, brushing his fingers against the back of Harry’s hands. He took a sip in silence before he passed it to his wife. Narcissa drank and handed it to Draco, who took a sip and gave it to Evan. Evan handed it back to Harry after he had swallowed a mouthful.

“We remember those who passed before us.” He finished what was left in the chalice and placed the cup down on the floor. He leant forward; bowing at the Head of the Family he was temporarily a part of, before pressing a kiss to the ground by Lucius’ foot. “And those that are yet to come.” He added softly before he stood up. 

“Let us feast.” Lucius said warmly, holding out his hand and a plain black robe. As the chieftain, Harry would not be allowed to dress properly until the ritual was over. And the ritual only finished when all of the food was gone. 

As they ate, every one of them made sure to avoid the meat dishes marinated in blood. Despite the fact that they could still taste that same blood on their tongues, they stuck to the vegetables and rice and pastas that were available. The meat was as much a sacrifice to the gods as the blood had been. It wasn’t to be touched by the humans. 

The five of them slept in the dinning room that night, and the night afterwards as well, thankful for the House Elves who brought them blankets and pillows and (rather embarrassingly) chamber pots. It took, as was tradition, three full days for them to finish their feast. 

When they were finally allowed to leave the room, Draco demanded that it was high time he got to open his Christmas presents. It was now the 28th of December, and the presents had been left under the large and colourfully decorated Christmas tree, waiting patiently until their owners had finished with their traditions before indulging in the more modern and _Muggle_ winter celebrations. 

Harry opened his presents last. 

There were many from his friends and Evan, and Petunia had even gone out of her way to send him a pair of mismatched socks. Harry rolled his eyes at the gift, but stuck them on his feet anyway, in too good a mood to let his spiteful Aunt ruin his holiday. Evan eyed the socks with distain, but considering Harry had spent the last three days half naked the man held his tongue, figuring that Harry was entitled to wear two pairs of socks if he wanted to as he was probably cold (despite the fact that they were both ugly socks that used to belong to Vernon Dursley and had holes in the heels). 

There was one present that Harry didn’t know the sender of. He opened it hesitantly, wary and cautious but trustful of Evan’s protective stance over him, wand ready to cast a ‘ _Protego_ ’ if he had to. But there were no curses on the gift, and the silvery paper opened up easily, melting away from the gift like running butter. 

“What is it?” Draco asked impatiently. 

Harry slowly lifted the cloak up. It was beautiful, undoubtedly, but Harry doubted it was something he would ever wear. With a fur collar, and a patchwork of colour, rather than a plain robe, it was something he had already decided to shove into the bottom of his trunk. Even if the inside lining of the cloak shimmered curiously. 

Lucius gasped, recognizing it immediately. “Put it on,” he breathed. “It belonged to your father.”

Harry frowned at the mention of his real parent, but he put on the cloak as instructed. His parents were dead, and they had been enemies of the person he wanted to be allies with. He didn’t remember his parents, but he was sure they had loved him, and that was all there was to it. As soon as the cloak was wrapped around his shoulders, Harry disappeared from the neck down. 

“Cool! An invisibility cloak!” Draco gasped, “I want one father!” He added immediately after. 

A piece of parchment lay on the wrapping paper, previously hidden beneath the cloak. Harry picked it up and read it out loud. “Dear Harry, this once belonged to your father, and I feel it is time to return it to its true owner. Take good care of it.” It wasn’t signed with a name, but Harry had an awful feeling this was another one of Dumbledore’s “controlled Boy-Who-Lived tests”. Evan had been furious when he learnt of the Troll incident, so Harry kept his suspicion to himself. 

There was writing on the back of the parchment as well. Harry turned it over and frowned. “‘I give neither knowledge nor truth, and men have wasted away before me, entranced by what they see. What am I?’ I thought you might enjoy the challenge.” Harry rolled his eyes. “I don’t know,” he scoffed, “maybe some Narcissus looked into a pool of water and caught sight of his reflection? Ridiculous.”3 

Evan allowed a small chuckle to escape his lips. “It might be interesting?” He suggested, “something to pass the time if you ever quit Quidditch.”

“Harry’s never quitting,” Draco gloated with a wide smirk. “He wouldn’t dare.” By unspoken agreement, neither boy had let slip the truth about why Harry was on the House team. Draco took great amusement in teasing the brunette in front of the adults, terrifying Harry with the thought that Evan might learn of his near expulsion, or even that Lucius might. They’d be so disappointed in him! He didn’t want to disappoint either man, his heart clenched painfully at the thought alone. 

“Shut up,” Harry hissed under his breath. Draco shot him a grin, but thankfully let the subject drop. 

“Perhaps it is time we take our leave?” Evan suggested. He rose fluidly to his feet, brushing down his robes lightly and moving forward to grab Harry’s shoulder. “Collect your things.” He pulled a flask out of his pocket and took a mouthful. Severus’ modified Polyjuice Potion (though Severus did not know the recipient of his experiment) lasted much longer than the usual hour and didn’t taste quite so bad. 

Vernon Dursley shrunk Harry’s presents and shoved them into his pockets out of the way. His clothes were enlarged to fit his bulkier frame, and the items easily fit into the tent-sized pockets. 

“Thank you for having us,” Harry said softly. He hugged Draco quickly, and nodded politely at Narcissa. A gasp escaped him as Lucius unexpectedly pulled him into a hug. Harry bit down on his lower lip to hide another gasp as he felt lips brush against the edge of his chin and then again at the corner of his mouth as Lucius pulled away. Evan was watching the blond with a narrow-eyed stare and Narcissa didn’t look much more pleased by the action. But Lucius re-took his seat calmly, as if he hadn’t just kissed an eleven-year-old, and smiled warmly at the flustered Harry. “Goodbye,” the boy squeaked out. 

Evan took hold of his shoulder and activated their return Portkey. Lucius held Harry’s eyes until the boy disappeared from the room with a ‘pop’. 

That night, Harry slept curled up against Evan’s side, his father’s invisibility cloak draped over the blankets, covering his legs. He stirred restlessly, gasping and crying out soundlessly. His hand rubbed at his forehead, the scar red and raw looking, and tears escaped his closed eyes. 

That night, for the first time since he was very young, Harry dreamt of green light and his parents’ deaths. And when he dreamt of Voldemort, Harry felt afraid. 

**XXX**

 

1 – Quirrell is NOT possessed by Voldemort. Ergo, Quirrell has no reason to interfere with the Quidditch match in anyway. I didn’t see much point dragging it out, since whenever someone else does, I tend to skip those paragraphs anyway!   
2 – Both traditions were brought over to England from Germany, albeit many, many years apart from each other. Information about Yule, the Winter Solstice, and the lunar Germanic calendar can be found at Wikipedia.org.   
3 – Narcissus was turned into a flower (Narcissi) by the gods for being vain. He used to stare at his own reflection for days at a time. And no, it was the Mirror of Erised (but I’m sure you all got that)!


	20. Chapter 19

**Words:** 3,691  
 **Chapter 19**  
January 5th 1992. 

Harry watched them with a smile. 

He lay on the grass in the garden, half hidden by the rosebushes. Evan watched him through the window, hidden underneath Harry’s invisibility cloak. 

Three Order members stood around outside of Number 4, all of them waiting until Harry’s uncle brought him outside to return him to Hogwarts. They had reported to Dumbledore that Harry seemed rather happy to be home: he avoided Dudley, he ignored Petunia, and he spent strange quantities of time with Vernon. His behaviour was the polar opposite of what Dumbledore had thought it might be. The Headmaster knew there was no love lost between Petunia and her deceased sister, and he doubted very much that she would have grown to love Harry either. He had warned the Order of that fact. The Order members had waited around, keeping an eye out for Potter and trying to keep the suspicious acting family within view of at least one of them at all times. 

Petunia Dursley had a job! Albus had been rather stunned to learn that small fact when he had been told. Severus had been rather impressed by the knowledge. He thought it was about time the lazy spiteful cow stopped relying on her husband for monetary support. 

Dudley Dursley was a bully and a liar, plain and simple. Kingsley had been the one to follow the boy to school and back for the few days before Christmas break started, just to make sure that he wasn’t telling anyone anything about his ‘special’ cousin. The boy was spreading rumours, except they had nothing to do with Harry being magical. Instead, he seemed to believe that Harry spent the school year at a facility for the mentally unstable. He took pleasure in shoving the younger children around, knocking them over and stealing food and money from them. 

Kingsley had expected his behaviour to be no different back at Number 4, and he had been prepared to reveal himself and protect Harry from any harm. But, strangely, Dudley avoided his cousin like the plague. He cringed whenever Vernon was in the room, and he outright trembled when Vernon and Harry where together in the same room as Dudley was. Kingsley couldn’t understand the strangeness of the Muggle family. 

The strangest one of all of them, however, had to be Vernon. 

Dumbledore had told them all that Vernon Dursley liked everything ‘normal’ and hated ‘freakish’ things. Mudungus Fletcher didn’t see why, if that were the case, Vernon would take to spending the majority of his free time following Harry around the house, or the town, or simply hiding away together in Harry’s bedroom. Tonks thought that last issue was odd and worrying, but Dung didn’t pay it much mind. Dursley had never shown an inclination towards young boys before, so why should he start with someone as unnatural as a Wizard? 

None of the Order members could quite decide whether the Dursleys were just weird, or if they were a typically strange Muggle family. Harry was the only one’s whose behaviour made any sense. He didn’t like his bully of a cousin, he didn’t like his spiteful aunt, and the only one he did like was his uncle, who actually treated him well. 

Evan of course knew about their thoughts. Their facial expressions were not hard to read. The only one he had difficulty with was Severus, and even at that, the man’s Occlumency shields were too strong to breech as well. He did know, however, that Snape took some sort of perverse pleasure in watching Petunia suffering at her lowly café job. 

It had become a game to them. For the two weeks that Harry had been back at Privet Drive, Evan had insisted on teaching him something. He gave essays, questions, theories he wanted Harry to think on, spells to memorise and learn the wand movements for, and then there were the times Evan wanted to use the Order members to better train Harry. At first, Harry just had to sneak passed them without anyone noticing. He had done pretty well, but he had been using the Invisibility cloak. Evan had made him do it again without the cloak. Harry had also been made to hex one of them, while sneaking passed, just to see if his ‘ _Disillusionment Charm_ ’ was strong enough. It hadn’t been much of a test, seeing as Fletcher was drunk and half asleep at the time. 

This time, Dung, Tonks and Severus were there. Evan wanted to see if Harry could get to the end of the road without being noticed. The boy had all of his things, shrunken, in his pockets. Evan had his invisibility cloak, and so it wouldn’t be too difficult to breeze right passed the other Witch and Wizards and meet Harry at the end of the road. 

Harry looked over his shoulder. He knew Evan’s gaze was firmly fixed on him. He took a deep breath, and waved his wand, whispering the words as soft as he possibly could. He held his breath, hoping that no one had heard him. He shuffled forward, army crawling, away from the rosebush and over behind the azalea. He poked his wand through the shrub and flicked it, casting a tripping-hex. Nymphandora gave a cry and toppled forward, right on top of Dung. Her and Fletcher fell to the floor with twin groans. 

“ _Stupefy_ ,” he cast again, aiming at Dung’s head. The man was out cold. He continued to lie on the ground, even as Tonks scrambled clumsily to her feet. 

“Bloody hell, woman,” Snape hissed. He narrowed his eyes at her, before turning to glare at Dung’s unconscious body. “What happened?”

“I don’t know! I just fell!” The teenager cried, rubbing her elbow with a grimace. It was going to bruise before the morning. “I think Mudungus pushed me.”

Severus rolled his eyes, before bending down to prod Dung with his finger. The man didn’t stir at all. 

While the two adults were busy inspecting the fallen Wizard, Harry scuffled forward, still crawling on his belly, until he was at the end of the Dursley’s driveway. A tall oak tree grew just outside of the gate, and Harry stood slowly, his wand raised and ready just in case. He hugged the tree, took a deep breath, and shifted until he was in full view of the Order members. Harry took a deep breath before refreshing his ‘ _Disillusionment Charm_ ’ and adding a ‘ _Featherweight Charm_ ’ to his shoes. Then he took off down the street, sprinting as quickly as he could manage it. 

No one looked up as he ran, so Harry could only assume that Severus thought it was a Muggle making noise. Tonks was busy fretting over her swelling elbow, and Dung, of course, was unconscious. 

Harry crouched down behind the rubbish bin. There was a post box next to the bin, but if he hid behind that he would be in full view of the front window of Nunber 1. Mrs. Delaney would be sure to come outside and shout at him, announcing his presence to the world and the Order of the Phoenix. So he stayed, squatting, behind the bin. 

“Well done,” Evan said, as he dropped a hand onto Harry’s shoulder. Two seconds later, Evan pulled him to the side, and together they spun on their heels and disappeared with a ‘crack’. “I am impressed. Or perhaps Snape is growing stupid in his old age? I didn’t not think you would make it passed him.”

“Then why did you-?” Harry questioned. 

They had arrived outside of Kings Cross. It was busy at that time of the morning, and Harry had to twist and turn his body to avoid all of the elbows and feet and briefcases that seemed to coincidentally find his body. Evan had no trouble navigating the crowds. People seemed to instinctively avoid the man. He wasn’t Polyjuiced: he felt, that if Harry were caught practising magic, it would be hard to explain why a Muggle like Vernon would be actively encouraging it. Evan had planned just to turn into a butterfly and fly away. His car was parked one street over, in the event of such circumstances, so that way Vernon could just drive back on to the road and pretend he didn’t know a thing. 

“It was a test, child. It would teach you nothing if I made you do things I knew you could do. That is the point of testing someone, to see what he or she cannot do, and then help him or her learn to do it. You did very well.” He paused, frowning heavily. “Would you like me to come through?” 

Harry considered it for a moment. He did want Evan to accompany him onto Platform 9 and ¾, and to be able to wave goodbye to the man out of the train window like everyone else did. But it wasn’t practical, or safe. Having Evan Rosier, wanted criminal and presumed dead, turn up as himself in a popular Wizarding area was asking for trouble. Even as the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry would have a snowball’s chance in hell of saving his father from Azkaban. 

If Evan had been Polyjuiced it wouldn’t have been such a problem. With the influx of Muggleborns to Hogwarts since Dumbledore became Headmaster in 1956, the Ministry have had to find a way to allow the non-magical parents onto the platform and passed the barrier, so that they would be able to see their children safely on the train in person. It was a simply idea, but ingenious. Most Witches and Wizards (well all of them, actually) were prone to carrying their wand on them at all times. All a Muggle had to do was be accompanied by a wand carrying magical person and they would be able to pass easily through the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10. 

If someone saw Vernon Dursley standing beside Lucius Malfoy, the general assumption would be that the Muggle had followed close enough behind the Wizard so as to trick the barrier. No one would think too much on it. Plenty of Muggles saw their children off without consequence. Why should one more be different? 

“No. You shouldn’t come through.” Harry said, softly. He leant forward, allowing Evan to tug him closer, and his arms wrapped tightly around the elder man for a moment and squeezed. “I’ll see you for Imbolc though, right?”

“No. Albus doesn’t allow holidays other than Christmas, Easter, and the summer period.” His usual drawling voice had turned into a whine, and Harry smiled at the frown that graced Evan’s face as he mentioned the Muggle holidays. “If you ask me, it’s pathetic. The Mudbloods are ruining our world.” 

A sudden gasp from beside them had both dark haired Wizard’s heads turning to look. A family of four hovered beside them, and Harry recognized one of them as Stephen Cornfoot. Stephen was the only Muggleborn Ravenclaw in Harry’s year. The blond boy was lazy, and unmotivated, and he didn’t do very well in class in comparison with the other Ravenclaws (but he was naturally smart enough to do better than most of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs in their year). He and Harry didn’t get on very well. On their first day of school, Stephen had refused to wake up and attend breakfast promptly on time, and so Harry had hexed him. Stephen had spent his first two classes in the Infirmary. 

“Oh look who it is,” Harry drawled, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “It’s nice to know you aren’t always late for everything. And look! You even managed to dress somewhat decently this morning. Makes a change from every other day of the year, doesn’t it, Cornfoot?” Harry’s nose wrinkled in disgust. He was obviously being sarcastic, because Stephen’s clothes were rumpled and his shirt was untucked and half buttoned, and his shoes were scuffed and flecked with mud. 

“I was in a rush this morning, Potter.” The other boy grumbled, a blush on his cheeks. 

Another grin crossed Harry’s face. “Overslept again, did we? Surprise, surprise.” He turned his back on his year mate, and nodded politely to Evan. “Goodbye,” he said softly, trying to keep his voice toneless. It wouldn’t do for Cornfoot to realise that Harry was friends with a Pureblood, Mudblood hating, Wizard. He walked away without a response from Evan, and strode confidently through the barrier, his head held high. 

Evan watched him silently. When Harry was completely out of site, he glanced once at the Muggles, and then disapparated, uncaring of who might see him. When his Lord returned, the Muggles would be made to know of them anyway.

And then the Muggles would know their _real_ place in the world. 

_XXX_

February 2nd 1992. 

Imbolc is one of the four principle festivals of the Gaelic calendar. Most commonly it is celebrated on February 2, falling halfway between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox. Originally dedicated to the goddess Brigid, with the infestation of the Christian period, it was changed into St Brigid's Day. Imbolc is a festival of the hearth and home, and a celebration of the lengthening days and the early signs of spring. Celebrations often involved hearthfires, special foods, divination or simply watching for omens, a great deal of candles, and perhaps an outdoor bonfire if the weather permits it. 

Considering it was a festival that was intended to bless the home, it was meant to be spent with ones family. But Dumbledore no longer allowed student to go home for Imbolc. There would be no reason to send the Mudbloods home, and it wouldn’t look right to be discriminating against them by making only them remain at Hogwarts for that Sunday. 

Harry didn’t really mind. He was more than capable of convincing Draco and Theo to light candles for each of their immediate family members, and say the bless prayers along with him. When curfew was set to begin the night before, Harry had gathered the ashes from the fireplace and smeared them across the headboard of his bed, trusting Theo and Draco to do the same, and then left out his invisibility cloak, draped over the door to his dormitory. 

It was believed that Brigid walked the earth on Imbolc’s Eve, and blessed those articles of clothing left in her path. If the ashes or fires that were lit outside of the homes had been disturbed, then Brigid had been there and blessed that home. The articles of clothing left outside were considered to have healing powers. 

Ever since Harry had been given the cloak, he had been having nightmares. No one seemed to know why, because he had never dreamt of his parent’s deaths, or of Voldemort, since Evan had come to live with him. Lucius thought it might have been because of the Dark Mark, and Harry’s curse scar, the Horcrux inside of him, was attracted to the Mark, recognizing it as part of itself and feeling safer for its presence. With Harry now spending so much time away from Evan, and with his Light father’s cloak, which had been in Dumbledore’s possession for an inestimable amount of time, Dumbledore having done who-knows-what to it before giving it back, perhaps Voldemort’s Horcrux was feeling threatened? Lucius had insisted, quite amused by his theory, that the Horcrux was trying to remind Harry who he belonged to and what side he was on. 

Harry wasn’t a fan of nightmares. Who was? 

He didn’t like being reminded nightly about who had killed his parents, and about how he was thinking, planning, to join that same man. Nor did he like to consider the idea that Voldemort’s soul piece considered Harry as an object that already belonged to them. Harry hadn’t picked sides yet. He still wasn’t sure how Voldemort felt on the matter!

Harry had hidden the cloak, ignored it unless if was useful, but when Imbolc’s Eve passed by, he could resist leaving it out in the hopes that it would be blessed. Blessed items were meant to contain healing powers for the following year. Perhaps, it would heal him from his nightmares? 

It was a nice thought but, since he wasn’t entirely sure that nightmares were a form of illness Brigid was capable of healing, he didn’t quite want to risk going to sleep early. If he had a nightmare and woke up, the chances were he wouldn’t get back to sleep again that night. But if he waited until later, until he was physically so tired that he couldn’t stand, there was usually less chance of him dreaming. 

Harry had the cloak thrown over him as he wondered through the hallways of Hogwarts. The note that Dumbledore had sent him, along with the cloak, was clutched tightly in one hand. He had spent his last handful of sleepless early morning hidden in the library, studying, trying to make Evan proud and figure out the riddle. At the bottom of the page, Harry had wrote, ‘Mirror of Erised’. Now all he had to do was find it. 

Harry stumbled across it quite by accident five minutes later. He had ducked into a corridor to avoid Mr Filch and his horrid cat, and when Mrs. Norris had come after him, Harry had ducked through the only door in that hallway. 

The Mirror stood in the centre of the room, and apart from it, the room was empty. Harry walked towards it slowly, allowing the cloak to slide from his shoulders and pool on the ground behind him. His fingers reached forward to trace the letters engraved on the top of the mirror, and in his head he translated it, before repeating it out loud. 

“I show not your face, but your heart’s desire.” He bit his bottom lip, before moving to stand directly in front of the full-length mirror. His reflection stared back. “What is it I desire?”

Lucius appeared behind him, and Harry chuckled softly. He reached out to trace Lucius’ face on the surface of the mirror, surprised to note that apparently his heart desired the blond Wizard. 

“So this is the Mirror of Erised,” someone said. The voice was familiar, and despite the fact that Harry hadn’t realized someone was in the room with him he didn’t jump. Instead, he turned slowly to face Lucius, a small smirk on his face. “What did you see?” Lucius asked, as he turned Harry around to look back into the mirror. 

Their bodies were pressed against each other’s, Lucius bending down slightly to rest his chin on the top of Harry’s head. “I see me, and you, and the wall behind us. Exactly as we are.” The child pulled away from Lucius’ touch. “What does that mean?”

Lucius chuckled lightly. “It means you are content, and that you desire nothing. It may change in the future, or it may not. But at this time, you are happy with your life.” 

“How did you find me?” Harry turned around so he was facing his friend’s father. 

“I came to spend the evening of Imbolc with my son, but I am told he is asleep. I used a ‘ _Point Me Spell_ ’ to find you, since you were not in your dormitory.” 

“You’ll have to teach me that spell.” Harry whispered, offering a soft smile. 

“They teach it in later years at Hogwarts. But if you do not wish to wait, I’m sure I could be persuaded to instruct you.” A pale hand shot forward, brushing back Harry’s fringe, before allowing its fingers to run down a flushed cheek. Grey eyes drank in the look of surprise and pleasure on Harry’s face, the blush on his cheeks and the way the child’s eyes fluttered shut. “I would be happy to, in fact.”

“What do you want from me?” Harry breathed out softly, his chest rising and falling faster than it should have been. His hands trembled as he backed away, knocking lightly into the Mirror. 

“Right now? Nothing, but that may change in time. Actually, I assure you, it will change, and I will want as much as you will give me. Surely you have noticed that I care for you?” Lucius had a smirk on his lips, and he raised one eyebrow in a silent question, as Harry blushed darker. “Do you care for me?”

“I am interested by you. The thought of you not liking me, or being disappointed in me, hurts my heart. It’s like with Evan, but not the same, not in the same way. I want him to be proud of me, but I want you to **like** me. Does that make sense?” Harry blinked his eyes, frowning and trying to make sense of his own thoughts. 

Lucius longed to tell him, to explain to Harry, that what he was saying sounded like the beginnings of a crush. That it was as if Harry was finally learning to differentiate familial love from romantic love. But he had promised Evan and Narcissa to let Harry realise things for himself, and then to let Harry approach him if that was what the child desired. Instead, Lucius reached out to cup Harry’s cheek again. 

“I understand perfectly.” He pressed a light kiss to Harry’s chin, crouching down so that he could hold his lips comfortably in that place for a full minute before drawing his mouth away. “And you will too, in time.”

“What do you think I’d see, Lucius, if my heart does decide to change?” Harry wondered. 

Lucius took him by the elbow and begun steering him towards the door. Harry glanced back at the Mirror, just in time to see his reflection throw something round in the air and catch it quickly again. The colour red flashed through Harry’s mind, the light refracting off of the glass and the hidden object, and the boy suddenly knew whatever secret the Mirror was hiding was an important one. 

But it was also something he was sure he wanted nothing to do with. So, he said nothing, and let Lucius lead him away. 

**XXX**

 

A/N: If anyone is wondering. Tonks is 18 years old, and has actually just finished her final year at Hogwarts, while Harry is in his first. Tonks was a Hufflepuff. It takes 3 years of training to qualify as an Auror, so right now, she’s helping Dumbledore scheme because she isn’t inducted into the Order until she qualifies either.


	21. Chapter 20

**Words:** 4,031  
 **Chapter 20**  
March 27th 1992. 

It was Slytherin’s last Quidditch match of the year. Despite the fact that they were playing Hufflepuff, and were practically guaranteed an easy victory, Draco, Theo and every other Slytherin in the school had gone to watch the match. The Slytherin seeker was refusing to chase the Snitch, content to simply keep Hufflepuff’s seeker out of reach, and watch as his team scored Quaffle after Quaffle. When the score was 260-20 Harry decided to leave. 

It was quite embarrassing. As a Quidditch fan, he couldn’t help but be disappointed by the Hufflepuff team. The too easy win for Slytherin made the game rather boring and pointless, and he didn’t take much pleasure in watching the Hufflepuff’s cringe and wince either. His friends cheered and booed and laughing loudly, but Harry had watched the game with a blank face, rolling his eyes with every goal and sighing in disappointment whenever Slytherin fouled. 

The others noticed him get up, but they didn’t try and stop him. Draco was rather engrossed in the game, and Harry was rather surprised that the boy had noticed him leaving in the first place. He returned Draco’s nod, and waved away Theo’s offer to go with him, and left. 

He didn’t know why, but once he was back inside of the castle, he found himself heading towards the Mirror of Erised. Harry knew that whatever Dumbledore wanted from him had something to do with the Mirror being there, but he couldn’t help himself. He had always been a curious child, and here was an opportunity for learning. There was nothing more that Harry wanted, other than a family who loved him, than knowledge. Nearly everyone he knew lived his or her lives by the adage that ‘knowledge is power’. Despite the fact that ‘power corrupts’, people still sought to attain it. Wealth, fame, notoriety: everyone wanted it. Wanted it all. But most people never achieved it. 

It wasn’t about that for Harry. 

Harry supposed he had a little in common with Lord Voldemort. Both wanted knowledge, both wanted to _know_ , and both would go to lengths to learn. But while Voldemort was ignorant and needed to learn, he also enjoyed it. Harry needed to learn too, but not to fit in, not to convince people that he was one of them – Pureblooded. If Voldemort did not accept Harry among his ranks, did not welcome Harry with open arms like Evan assured him he would, then Harry would need to know how to defend himself, for surely the only other option would be to die? He refused to lie back and let Voldemort kill him. He knew Evan loved him, but enough to betray the Dark Lord? 

He would only have himself to rely on, and in order to live, he needed to obtain as much knowledge as possible. It would take years, but eventually he would be on par with the Dark Lord. He had promised himself that when he had learnt that he was a Horcrux. He was worth more to Voldemort, he knew he could be, than just a container for his soul. Harry was worth more. 

The urge to examine the Mirror bubbled away inside of him. He feared what he would find, and he was cautious about everything to do with the object. Dumbledore wanted him to find the Mirror for a reason, and whatever reason it was had to be a bad one as far as the Dark side were concerned. Regardless of the fact that he was neutral for the moment, Harry knew that any plans or ideas Dumbledore concocted concerning him couldn’t be good either. 

The Mirror was in the same place as it always was. Harry had visited the room four times since the start of February, when he and Lucius had been in the room together. Each time, Harry simply saw his reflection, just the way he was with the room behind him. Lucius had told him it meant that Harry was content with life. It might change, the blond had said, or it might not. Harry half desired to know what it might change into. Would he see a lover? Or a child? Or himself by Voldemort’s side? 

He didn’t know what he wanted. How was a Mirror supposed to show him his true desires and wishes and needs, when he couldn’t decide what to want? He had so many desires, but each one arose so many questions within him, and when he answered those to the best of his abilities, he realised that he couldn’t desire what he had.

He wanted to join Voldemort. But did Voldemort want him? Would Voldemort simply kill him? Or torture him first? What if Voldemort hurt Evan for taking care of him? But what if he didn’t join Voldemort? What if he joined Dumbledore? He didn’t want to join Dumbledore, but if he did, would he be safe? Would Evan be safe? What would Lucius think about him joining Dumbledore? Would Lucius hate him? Why did he care what Lucius thought? If Lucius liked him, he might convince the Dark Lord to spare him, but would Voldemort listen? Did he really want to join Voldemort, or were those around him influencing him? No, he wanted to join. But would Voldemort let him, or just kill him? 

It went around inside of his head, like a broken record, repeating itself continuously until Harry was sick of it. The doubts and the questions made his head hurt, and there was no one who could assuage them except for Voldemort himself. And Voldemort wasn’t available right then. 

Instead, he looked into the Mirror. One hand pressed against the glass, leaving a smudge in the shape of his palm and fingertips. He pressed harder, pushing against the Mirror, trying to force his way through. 

“What do I want more than anything else?” He asked his reflection. 

It wasn’t unusual for reflections to respond in the Wizarding World. Harry had grown quite used to having his mirror image tell him his hair was atrocious first thing in the morning, or for a pocket mirror to insist that he needed to clean the lint out of his pockets during the afternoon. But he had never had his reflection offer him up a stone before. 

Harry dropped his hand and moved backwards. A frown took over his face, and his eyebrows drew down together, as his eyes studying the object resting in the palm of his other’s hand. The reflection held it out unhesitant. It was a small red stone, shinny and rough around the edges, and Harry was compelled to reach out and grab it, to take it for his own. It had been drawn from the reflection’s trouser pocket, and Harry patted his own, checking for anything that he knew shouldn’t be there. There was no stone in his pocket, and the Mirror-Harry smiled widely at the action and stretched his arm out further. 

“Take it,” the reflection mouthed. “It’s yours. You know you want it, more than anything.” 

It was like the whisper of the wind, brushing faintly against the shell of his ears, only the words didn’t comprehend. Harry had to squint his eyes, locking his gaze onto the mouth in the Mirror, and lip-read the words he could not hear. 

His hand itched to take the stone. It was his, wasn’t it? It was what he desired most, right? As suddenly as he thought that, Harry remember the night he had been in the same position, with Lucius at his back, about to lead him away, and his reflection had started to throw something shinny and red into the air, before catching it and hiding it in his pocket. The memory jarred him, like a punch in the face, and he jumped back away from the Mirror. 

Dumbledore was behind this, Harry thought angrily. He turned away from the Mirror, quickly, before the stone could disappear into his pocket. He didn’t want the stone. He didn’t even know what it was, so why would he want it? 

What he did want was to know why Dumbledore was so determined to give it to him? And it must have been Dumbledore. Because who else would play such disconcerting, intriguing games? 

_XXX_

May 4th 1992.

Apparently there were many ‘stones’ in the Wizarding World. Harry had spent rather a few nights within the library, hidden under his Invisibility Cloak, researching. So far, none of the references he had found referred to a stone that was red. 

Apparently Dumbledore had grown impatient with him. That evening at dinner, an owl came for him. Birds swooped low over the heads of the children, dropping letters and packages, and evening editions of newspapers or magazines for those that subscribed to them. A school owl perched on the table beside Harry and held out a leg. Harry was sitting at the Slytherin table, and Draco reached over and untied to note from the bird’s leg. He unrolled the parchment without waiting for permission, but Harry was used to his behaviour by now and took no offence. 

“What the hell?” Draco mumbled. “Harry, you have some seriously messed up friends.” 

The brunette frowned, reaching out and taking the note from Draco to read for himself. Theo stopped eating, his hand moving to rest lightly on his wand. “Are you ok?” He asked softly, worried for his friend. 

“Yes I’m fine. It’s fine. I need to go.” He pushed away from the table. His plate was barely touched, and his stomach was still rumbling, but Harry ignored it. It wasn’t important if he was hungry. He could always beg food from a house elf later, or convince Hermione to conjure him some. Apparently, food cannot be conjured when it does not exist, but if you cast the spell in the Great Hall (where people eat everyday), leftovers will appear. 

The Forbidden Forest was forbidden for a reason, and most people were wise enough to heed that fact. Beltane had passed a few nights ago, and the trees right at the very edge of the forest bore witness to that. Rags and scarves and ribbons and belts were wrapped around the trees, knotted tightly in a mismatch of brightly coloured fabrics, calling the attention of the Goddess Bel. The further into the forest Harry walked though, the more apparent it was that not many people would have dared as he did. The cloth offerings slimmed out, then vanished, after about two minutes of walking, and by now Harry was so far into the forest that he couldn’t even see the flashes of colour when he looked back in the direction he had come. Everything around him was a dark green, turning black in the twilight. But he wasn’t afraid. 

Not of the forest, at any rate. 

Harry looked down at the note in his hands. It wasn’t sinister sounding, and it wasn’t threatening looking either. A simply note on simple parchment, but Harry knew it had come from Dumbledore. And it was about the Stone. 

**Flamel created me to give new breath to life. I am like the Hand of Midas. A month I will wait for you to come seek what you truly desire.** 1

Harry sat down on a fallen branch, the note held out in front of him. He knew who Midas was; he had heard the story in primary school. But he hadn’t read about a stone that could turn things to gold by touch? Unless… Flamel. Wasn’t he an alchemist? Perhaps? 

Harry stood again. He crumpled the note up and shoved it into his pocket. He ran back in the direction he had come, tripping and falling several times, his feet caught on roots and vines and his face catching on branches, but he didn’t care. There was something he needed to know. He was willing to go to lengths for knowledge. 

_XXX_

June 4th 1992. 

It had been exactly a month. Harry had known what kind of Stone was hidden within the Mirror of Erised, but he did not try to obtain it. The Philosopher’s Stone is a legendary alchemical substance, supposedly capable of turning base metals, especially lead, into gold; it was also able to create an elixir of life, useful for rejuvenation and for achieving immortality. For a long time, it was the most sought-after goal in Western alchemy, meditated upon by alchemists like Sir Isaac Newton, Frater Albertus, and eventually created by , Nicolas Flamel, with the help of Albus Dumbledore. 

Harry wanted to know why Dumbledore would offer up something so powerful to a child, especially one the man couldn’t control? But perhaps that was the point. Maybe he was trying to see if he could in fact control Harry, to see if it were possible that Harry might one day work for him, fight for him. Regardless of whether or not Harry joined Voldemort, he knew he would never join the light side. To do so would mean that he would risk killing a friend or a family member every time he engaged in a battle with a Death Eater. He wouldn’t risk that. He had enough Slytherin within him to know it was better to run and hide than it was to betray your family. 

Harry sat curled up on the cough in the Gryffindor common room. It wasn’t actually that he wanted to be there, but he and Hermione had been partnered for a last minute Transfigurations project, and at least this way Dumbledore couldn’t ‘accidentally’ stumble upon him, like he might have done if Harry were in the library. Hermione had gone up to her dorm to get something, leaving Harry surrounded by Gryffindors that liked him almost as much as they liked his Mudblood associate. He pointedly ignored their glares and drew a book out of his bag. Opening it to the page he wanted, Harry stared down at the picture, ignoring the text he had read so many times already. 

“What’s that?” Hermione questioned him as she sank onto the couch beside him. She had her Transfiguration notes in her arms, and a quill tucked behind her ear. 

“The Philosopher’s Stone.” Harry told her softly, worried about someone overhearing. Ron Weasley was huddled beside the fireplace, within hearing distance of them, and also being glared at by the other Gryffindor’s. The rumour was that, the week after Dumbledore sent Harry the clue, Ron had been caught trying to smuggle a dragon out of Hogwarts. His mother had sent several angry Howlers, Ron had been badly burnt and spent the weekend in the Infirmary, and he and Seamus Finnegan had lost 150 House Points each. 

“What does it do?” Hermione inquired, leaning over to trace the shinny red stone drawn on the page. 

“Here,” he said handing her the book. “Read about it another time. I’m finished with that book anyway.” She looked curiously over at him, and he shrugged. “It wasn’t as interesting as I thought it might have been. My curiosity is satisfied.” 

She took the book with a smile and laid it on the ground by her feet. She handed her notes to Harry and together, they dove into their project.

All the while, surrounded by the metaphorical enemy, Harry wondered how Dumbledore was taking his defeat. 

_XXX_

Same time. 

The boy hadn’t come. No, that was a lie. The boy had come, but he hadn’t stayed. Nor had he taken the Stone. 

On the ground in front of the Mirror was the same sheet of parchment Dumbledore had owled to Harry a month ago. At the bottom of the clue, Harry had written, “Philosopher’s Stone. And no, it is not what I desire most.” 

Kingsley Shacklebolt sighed. “Are you sure, Albus?”

“There was something wrong with him when he arrived here,” Dumbledore said, folding up the parchment and tucking it into his robes. “I need to make sure he is who we need him to be. Perhaps the Muggles raised him wrong, or his near death experience left some sort of trauma upon him, but he is nothing like his parents.”

“I’m sure you aren’t the very same as your father?” Left unsaid was the fact that Dumbledore’s father had been in Azkaban. “All children are individual, Albus. They are there own person, set to live their own lives and make their own mistakes.”  
Albus sighed, a frown on his face as he looked back into the Mirror. A blond haired boy nodded to him, winding his arms around Albus’ reflection’s waist and he smiled warmly before burying his face against Albus’ neck. Dumbledore flinched, imagining he could feel those lips moving against his own skin, the way Gellart had done it so often when they were teenagers. “It’s for the Greater Good,” the blond promised. And Dumbledore believed him. 

“Sometimes, that’s a bad thing.” The old Wizard said at last. “Harry should have been more like his parents. He reminds me too much of another boy who once came to school within these hallowed halls.”

“Yourself?” Kingsley asked, a small smirk on his lips. 

“Voldemort.” Dumbledore took a strange delight in watching his friend flinch at the name. Kingsley accompanying him had ruined his plans for the night, and it felt good to get back at the man for that, even if Kingsley hadn’t known anything about it. Dumbledore had planned to wait for Harry to take the Stone and leave, or to hand the Stone over and leave, but either way once the boy was gone, the Wizard had planned to lose himself in the fantasy the Mirror offered. Men had wasted away in front of the Mirror of Erised, but Dumbledore planned only to indulge for one night. The Mirror would be gone from Hogwarts the next day. Tonight was his last night to spend with his lover. 

“Would you leave us, Kingsley?” He asked softly, reaching forward to run his hand over the glass face of Gellart Grindelwald. When Kingsley was gone, Gellart reached forward, and offered Dumbledore the Philosopher’s Stone. 

Dumbledore took the Stone, and slid it into his pocket, beside his note to Harry. The boy hadn’t taken the Stone, despite knowing what it does. But that didn’t mean anything. Perhaps Harry really didn’t want the Stone, or maybe he hadn’t known that Voldemort was searching for it? Regardless, Dumbledore had been in possession of it for long enough and it was time to return it to the Stone’s rightful owner. 

And it was time to say goodbye to his lover as well. 

_XXX_

June 20th 1992. 

Slytherin won the House Cup again that year, not that anyone was surprised. Harry didn’t mind so much, he was proud of his House, but he was pleased for his friends as well. Anyone was better winning it than the Gryffindor’s, which was an opinion shared by the majority of the Slytherins and Ravenclaws. Ravenclaw would have won on Quidditch matches alone, except for Slytherin’s monumental win against Hufflepuff back in March shot them straight into the lead. Evan Ravenclaw crushing Gryffindor in May hadn’t been enough to save Harry’s House from second place. 

The Hogwarts Express was almost overcrowded, or so it seemed. The Slytherin side of the train was packed with people, celebrating and congratulating, and the Ravenclaws had joined them. The Hufflepuffs weren’t exactly welcomed, but they came anyway, shaking hands and patting shoulders, full of well wishes and smiles. The other end of the train was filled with Gryffindors, but it looked rather empty in comparison. 

The Platform was just as crowded, bodies crushed in on top of each other, pushing and shoving to get to their families, hugging and shouting and laughing. Most of the Purebloods waited on the train, their families hung back against the walls of the Station, keeping out of reach and away from the sweaty bodies that knocked against one another. 

Harry watched them through the window, smiling and happy, and so uncouth. He couldn’t help but snort lightly. He loved hugs as much as the next needy child, but watching Mrs Weasley scoop her unwilling children into smothering hugs was a bit much in his opinion. Fred looked like he could barely breathe! Draco appeared beside him, a sneer on his lips, and he let out a disgusted tsk before heading towards the door. 

A House Elf appeared in the compartment, wearing a dirty pillowcase with an elaborate ‘M’ sewn across the chest. 

“Dobby’s be missing Harry Potter, sir!” The Elf said. Despite the fact that the Elf belonged to the Malfoy family, Dobby overlooked Draco’s trunk, grabbed hold of Harry’s things and disappeared with a ‘pop’. 

Harry laughed softly, but Draco’s angry comment was cut off by the appearance of a second Malfoy elf, which hurriedly took hold of Draco’s things and disappeared too. 

“Favouritism. From your own servants, even!” Harry teased as they stepped off of the train. He was carrying one handle of Theodore’s trunk, while the boy in question held onto the other strap. “I don’t see why you don’t shrink it down, Theo?” Harry questioned as the heavy box thumped against his calf again. 

“My father won’t unshrink it for me.” The boy admitted. 

Harry frowned, and Draco scoffed. “You have a wand, don’t you?” The blond said, his chin tilted up in contempt. “Unshrink it yourself.”

Theo didn’t respond, and Harry frowned harder at his silence. Something wasn’t right in the Nott household, and Harry was determined to find out over the summer. Theo had become a close friend of his, almost as close as Draco, and even though there were secrets between them, Theo wouldn’t be keeping them much longer if Harry had his way.

“I’ll see you next year.” Harry said, dropping Theo’s trunk to the ground beside a House Elf who was waiting impatiently to take Theodore back home. “Write to me?”

“I’ll try.” The boy offered tentatively, before the Elf whisked him away. 

“Well, Harry,” Draco said, his voice turning coy, “aren’t you going to greet my Father?” Harry’s head snapped to the side, Draco’s wide-eyed look didn’t fool him at all, and he knew the blond was up to something. 

“What?” Sure enough Lucius and Narcissa were making their way over, but Harry didn’t look at them for long. “What are you eluding to?”

“Did you know, sometimes, you talk in your sleep?” Draco threw the comment out quickly, and then hurried towards his parents, knowing that Harry would never say anything in Lucius’ presence. 

The brunette shot him malicious looks, eyes cutting into Draco’s flesh as handily as a knife, but the blond just scowled back and fluttered his eyelashes teasingly when Lucius’ back was turned. Lucius glanced back and forth between the two, but before he could question their odd behaviour and the tenseness between them, a hand fell onto Harry’s shoulder and squeezed, nails biting into his skin through his shirt. 

“Come freak, I haven’t all day.” Petunia Dursley scowled down at him. Evan had decided she needed to make a public, magical, appearance if they were going to avoid Dumbledore’s suspicions over the summer holidays. She wasn’t happy about the fact, but from the bruise she was trying to hide under her concealed, Harry guessed she didn’t have much choice. 

“Yes Aunt Petunia.” He almost felt bad for her, and then he remembered how much he hated her, and instead felt glad it was her suffering, and not he. “Let’s go home. I’ve missed my Uncle very much.” 

Harry waved at Draco, momentarily forgetting about the blond’s teasing comments, and allowed his aunt to leave him off of Platform 9 and ¾. The further away they drove from the train station, the more he should have felt like he was leaving home. But he didn’t. There was no grief, or resentment, or apprehension. He would be back next year, so there was nothing to mourn. 

He wondered if the adage about home being where the heart was was as true as the one about knowledge being power? The closer he got to Evan, the more he felt like he was going home. 

**XXX**

1 – Midas was a King who was ‘gifted’ with the ability to turn whatever he touched into gold…. Rocks, food, water… his daughter. He prayed to a Goddess to have the ‘curse’ removed.


	22. Chapter 21

**Words:** 3,693  
 **Chapter 21**  
July 31st 1992. 

For Harry Potter, it was more than just a normal day. Today was his twelfth birthday. Evan had invited some of Harry’s friends to visit, but so far none of them had turned up. Draco was definitely coming, and Hermione said she’s take the underground and visit for an hour or so, but he hadn’t been able to contact Theo at all. 

A pile of unopened letters sat on top of Harry’s desk. The first few letters had been opened, but Harry had gotten no reply, but after a while his letters had begun to return unopened and Theo had sent no explanation for that fact. It was worrying, but Draco had just shrugged it off when he was told. Draco had offered to floo over (since a Muggle house wasn’t connected to the Floo Network, Harry couldn’t do the same) or firecall or something. The blond boy was certain that Theodore couldn’t ignore them both all summer, regardless of whatever Harry had done to upset him. 

Harry felt that it was more than just being ‘upset’. He hadn’t actually done anything to make Theo angry with him, or to entice Theo to outright ignore him. With what Harry had learnt from Evan about Mr. Nott, he was rather worried for his friend’s safety. 

The sound of apparition startled Harry out of his thoughts. Evan called up the stairs, telling Harry to hurry up. His first guest had arrived. 

“Hey Draco,” Harry said grinning, as he practically ran down the stairs. The boy had been side-apparated by his father into the garden of Number 4, Privet Drive. The children hugged, patted each other on the back, all the while grinning, and then Draco handed over his gift. 

“I thought you’d like it, being a Ravenclaw and all,” he said with a roll of his eyes. He was slightly miffed that Harry hadn’t wanted to be with him in Slytherin, but he knew his friend deserved to be in the ‘clever people’s House’. “I can get you something else if you don’t like it?” 

“I’m sure I’ll love it.” He grabbed Draco’s hand and led him into the living room. Lucius and Evan had waited in there, allowing the boys’ time to greet each other privately. “Hello Lucius,” Harry whispered, ducking his head shyly to avoid the blond man’s stare. 

“You’re looking very well this afternoon.” Lucius reached out to take Harry’s hand, and he brought it to his mouth for a light kiss. The boy blushed: he was used to Lucius being free with his lips, but he still felt uncomfortable with his own father watching him. “I also have a gift for you.”

“Thank you very much!” Harry grinned, and then shook his gift lightly, “but I still have to open Draco’s.” 

Evan’s hands fell on Harry’s shoulders, and he guided the boy towards the sofa and pushed him down. “Go ahead then, don’t keep us in suspense any longer.” 

Petunia had gone to work at the café, and Dudley had been told to go to a friend’s house for as much of the day as possible. Piers and Dudley would probably be at the park, beating up small children, but at least they wouldn’t be around to ruin Harry’s birthday. The four of them were alone, Harry and his family, with presents and a huge cake sitting on the coffee table in front of them. 

Harry ripped the paper off of the gift Draco had given him. “Oh!” The boy gasped, his fingers brushing lightly over the cover of the book. “This must have been so expensive!” It was a leather bound copy of **Hogwarts: A History** , complete with a gold engraving of the school crest on the front and the author’s signature on the inside cover. “I can’t wait to read it!” 

Draco smirked, his pale cheeks flushing in pride. “The bookstore owner said that this was the _original_ copy. There are footnotes on the pages, handwritten additions, and even an introduction written by the author.” 1 

“Draco, it’s amazing! Thank you so much!” He gushed, his fingers curled around the spine of the book. He beamed at his friend, face flushed and his eyes wide and happy. “Now, what did you get me?” He turned to grin at Lucius, and the elder man allowed his lips to twist into a soft smile.

He reached into his robes and withdrew a small package, which immediately resized when Harry touched it. The spell had been cast before they entered the house, and so the wards did not recognize the re-sizing as ‘magic’. Harry pulled off the wrapping paper, bouncing in his seat from excitement as he immediately recognized the shape of the object through the paper. 

The words ‘Nimbus 2001’ gleamed in gold letters on the handle of the broom. Its dark wood was polished heavily, and it sparkled and shone as Harry tilted the broom from side to side, examining it. The bristles were long and smooth, all of them facing the same way and they practically vibrated as Harry’s hand touched them, their need to be in use almost as strong as Harry’s need to use the broom. 

“This is- You shouldn’t have… I- I- I don’t know what to say. Wow! Oh, thank you, Lucius, it’s the best- I really wanted- wow!” Without thinking, Harry launched himself across the space between them. Evan had to jump forward and grab hold of the cake before it fell off of the table, but Harry didn’t notice. He was on Lucius’ lap, the broom still clutched in one hand and the other arm wrapped tightly around Lucius’ neck as he gave the man a hug. The blond’s arm went around Harry’s waist, holding the boy, pressing them closer together, and he smiled down into Harry’s hair listening as the child mumbled his thanks over and over again. 

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Lucius said, slowly pushing Harry back. “You shouldn’t thank me yet, you don’t know what else I’ve done.” Harry looked up at him, his eyes hooded as he tried to think what Lucius could mean. Due to the way he was raised, he was instantly suspicious, but Lucius only chuckled as Harry narrowed his eyes and frowned. “Close, my love, but not quite what you are thinking. I don’t require anything back from you, nor would I ask.” He cupped Harry’s chin, his thumb lightly drawing circles on one cheek before moving down to rub against Harry’s bottom lip. 

“Father bought me one for my birthday as well!” Draco exclaimed, and Lucius nodded lightly. “I’m trying out for Seeker this year, so that way we can play against each other. It’ll be like the one-on-one matches we used to have! Oh, and-” Lucius shot him a glare, and Draco immediately fell silent. 

“Let me tell him, son. It’s my surprise.” The man was positively smug looking now. He raised both hands to cup Harry’s face, ignoring Evan who was scowling at their position, and pretending not to be affected by Harry shifting on his lap. “Not only did I gift Draco with the same broom as you, but the entire Slytherin team as well.”

“WHAT!” Harry shrieked, jumping off of Lucius’ lap, his hands balled in anger. The broom lay on the sofa, forgotten. “You did what? That is SO UNFAIR!” 

“Now, now,” Lucius chided, as he stood. He grabbed hold of Harry’s hands and squeezed lightly. “Now you have more opportunity to astound us with your Quidditch brilliance.” He was smirking at the child and, beside Evan on the other sofa, Draco was looking pretty pleased as well. Lucius leant closer, so only Harry could hear, and whispered, “I’m sure you’ll do amazingly. A store of brooms could never make up for your skill and grace.” He pressed a soft kiss to Harry’s cheek (out of sight of Evan’s gaze) and took his seat again. 

Harry scowled at his friend’s father, but in the end he just took a deep breath and let it go. He moved around the coffee table and sat himself down beside Evan, his upper body tilted so it was pressed against his father’s side. 

“What did you get me?” He teased; looking coyly up at the Death Eater threw his eye lashes. 

“I will be buying your gift when we go to collect your school supplies. You will just have to be patient.” Evan had pulled a knife from somewhere, and he leant forward to cut the first slice of cake. Harry was given the first slice, and as per tradition they skipped the whole ‘lighting candles and singing thing’, and instead tucked straight in to the sugary treat. After Harry’s first bite, the doorbell rang. 

Logically, he knew it was Hermione. When he opened the front door, the grin on his face slipped off when he saw her, and not Theo. He was happy to see his associate, but he missed his friend. Theo hadn’t come to his birthday party. Theo wasn’t answering or reading any of his mail, and Hedwig had made enough journeys for it not to be a coincidence. 

Harry was really worried now. 

_XXX_

August 4th 1992. 

Hermione scowled as she was dragged forward. Her feet were soaked with rainwater and mud, and she stumbled as Ron Weasley pulled harshly on her arm. It had stopped raining now, but the ground was sodden and her hair was stringy and wet still. She shivered lightly, tugging her arm from Ron’s grip so she could cross them both over her chest. 

“Come on,” the redheaded boy urged, “let’s get inside where it’s warm.” 

Behind them, the Weasley twins followed, smirking at each other. Hermione scowled at them over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed and she was obviously annoyed. It had only been a few days since Harry’s pseudo-party, and Hermione had been very pleased that Evan had invited her to visit a second time during the holiday. She had been planning on going today, but out of the blue a _flying car_ of all things had appeared outside of her bedroom window. Ron had all but kidnapped her from her own house! 

Not to mention that his driving was atrocious, and more than once Hermione had actually fallen out of the door of the car while it was mid-flight. The rain had started somewhere past Surrey and Fred hadn’t been able to work the electric windows, which resulted in the windows being open for the entire journey. Most of the car’s interior, as well as its passengers, were soaked through by the time they landed in the cornfield in Ottery St. Catchpole. 

Hermione had tried to insist that she didn’t need to be rescued, that her parents were _not_ keeping her hostage, and that she hadn’t responded to Ron’s letters because she _did not like him_ , not because she was being prevented from responding. Ron, unfortunately, would not listen to her. 

She had to jog to keep up with the taller boy. Ron’s elder brothers were still trading grins with one another, amused at their youngest brother’s dense behaviour. Ron had woken them at an ungodly hour, determined to rescue Hermione because she was his link to befriending Harry Potter, pleasing the Headmaster and gaining fame and fortune! They had rolled their eyes, but had agreed to go with him to her home in Woking to make sure he didn’t destroy their dad’s car. Headmaster Dumbledore had been to visit their parents early in the summer break, and apparently Ron had overheard the adults talking about how Harry needed a more Gryffindor-like friendship. The twins chuckled, knowing full well that Ron had likely taken on the role as his own, whether anyone wanted him to or not.

“Would you stop?” Hermione hissed, as Ron reached over to grab her arm again. “You don’t even like me! And I don’t like you, so I demand you stop touching me, let me go inside and phone a taxi! Or at the very least, allow me to floo to a train station, Woking or Redhill will be fine.” 

Woking Station was actually in the town she lived in, and very close to her home. Redhill was further south, closer to Little Whinging, where Harry lived.2 Guildford Station was situated in North Surrey, and she hadn’t had time to grab any cab money when Ron had unfairly hustled her out of her bedroom window. 

“Of course I don’t like you,” Ron said, scoffing. He grabbed hold of her upper arm and pulled Hermione forward. She stumbled, but Fred’s hand on her elbow steadied her. The elder Weasley scowled at his younger brother, but Ron merely rolled his eyes. “What does liking you have to do with anything, Granger? But while you’re here, you might as well invite Harry to visit too! We can all hang out, or something.” He pushed her through the open doorway into The Burrow and then guided her towards the fireplace. 

“Harry doesn’t have the Floo Network connected to his house.” Hermione informed him primly, folding her arms across her chest angrily. “And no, I will not force him to come here and endure _your_ presence. You know very well that Harry and Draco hate you!” She told him, her eyes narrowed. 

“What does Malfoy have to do with anything?” Ron laughed cruelly. “He wasn’t invited.” With a whistle, a scruffy old owl appeared on the windowsill, holding its leg out patiently. “Errol will bring your letter to Harry. Wait for a reply, ok?” He told the owl, ignoring Hermione’s stuttered protests. 

She couldn’t believe the nerve of that boy! No wonder she went out of her way to avoid most of Gryffindor House. If they acted like Ron for the most part, the Slytherins were right to put Gryffindor down. It was actually embarrassing, Ron’s behaviour. 

“Don’t mind him.” George said, shrugging softly. 

“He seems to think he’ll be,” Fred said, trailing off and allowing his brother to finish the sentence. 

“Harry’s new BBF!” 

“Idiot,” they said together, plopping down into a kitchen chair each. 

“Well, yes, that’s wonderful and delusional of him, but may I please go home now?” She sighed heavily as Molly Weasley appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. Hermione’s eyes slid shut and she prayed for patience as Ron began nagging her about writing Harry a letter, and Mrs. Weasley tried to force feed her, and then Arthur Weasley was there, asking her questions about electricity of all things! She was half tempted to trick Harry into coming here, just so she wouldn’t have to suffer alone. 

_XXX_

August 11th 1992. 

Lucius had firecalled Evan almost immediately after the strange house elf apparated into his study. It was holding the small black diary that had once belonged to Lord Voldemort, and Lucius had paled horribly as the Horcrux was touched and petted by a stranger’s servant. 

“You should keep better care of this,” the Elf told him. It was wearing a bright pink pillowcase, with an elaborate ‘G’ on the centre front, sewn in gold and turquoise. The same colours had been used on the back of the pillowcase to form the letter ‘L’, and around the bottom, the pillowcase was hemmed with silk of royal purple. The elf looked ridiculously comical, and Lucius could not think of one associate of his that would have so little taste as to dress their servant as such. 

“This is very important,” the elf added, its dirty nails scrapping over the front of the leather. Lucius reached forward, prying the elf’s hands off of the book, and he hurriedly tucked it into a draw. “He’ll want it back soon, the Dark Lord will.” The elf wasn’t talking like a normal House Elf either, and its eyes kept rolling in its head, as if it were possessed or under the ‘ _Imperious_ ’. “Take better care of it, Lucius.” 

And there it was, Lucius thought, the dreaded hissing sound on the ‘s’ at the end of his name. Voldemort had always dragged the word out like that, hissing it, instead of just speaking it, but only when he was feeling playful. Lucius’ wand was on the House Elf, ready to question it, but by the time his brain had kicked into gear the elf was gone. 

He had called Evan seconds after, first ensuring that the diary was safely warded and locked away. They had many things to discus. Such questions were on Lucius’ mind. Who had the elf belonged to? And could it be possible that the Dark Lord had sent that message? 

When Draco had noticed that Evan Rosier was in his home, he immediately left for Privet Drive. The Portkey he borrowed from his father dropped him in a heap in Harry’s back garden, and Draco hurriedly picked himself up and brushed off his robes. Without knocking he pushed open the backdoor and walked into the kitchen. 

Petunia Dursley had not been expecting visitors. Her husband (who would always be her husband even if he was acting freaky and actually being nice to her freakish nephew) had gone out somewhere, and the freak was up in his bedroom. Dudley had gone to Piers’ house again, and she had been enjoying alone time in the kitchen watching some stupid daytime chat-show. Draco presence frightened her enough that she threw the remote control at his head, shrieking. 

Draco ducked. He barely avoided being hit in the face, and it was all he could do to leave his wand in his pocket and not attack the Muggle bitch. He stomped past her, seething and clenching his fists, and she watched him with her mouth agape. 

Harry appeared at the bottom of the stairs. “Is everything ok?” He panted, chest heaving. “Oh, Dray, it’s you. I thought something was wrong.” 

“That- that woman! She threw something at me!” He whinged, his eyes narrowed. 

“She does that sometimes,” Harry said with a shrug, brushing off Petunia’s behaviour as if she were a disobedient dog. “Evan went out, so she thinks it’s ok to act like her usual horrid self while he’s gone.”

Draco nodded in agreement, leaving out the fact that he had rather startled her, so he probably deserved to have something thrown at him. But damn it! How dare she hurl something at a Malfoy? 

“You know,” Draco drawled as they headed back upstairs to Harry’s room. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you before, but how come your Aunt still seems to think Evan is your uncle? He wasn’t even Polyjuiced. Surely he doesn’t use the Potion all of the time?” Draco’s eyes had widened in horror at the thought of having to pretend to be the fact, ugly Muggle all day, every day. He shuddered. 

“Of course not. The first time we all went out together, Evan hexed her and Dudley. Regardless of whether he uses the potion or not the two of them will only see Vernon. As far as they are both concerned, Evan _IS_ Vernon, only he’s just had a complete personality change. No one knows he is dead, except for us lot and your father too. I haven’t even told Theo.” Draco beamed, feeling very smug all of a sudden. “But I was thinking about it, you know. Do you think he’ll mind that I didn’t tell him sooner?”

“Speaking of Theo,” Draco said, interrupting Harry’s train of thought. He wasn’t too keen on having to share what secrets of Harry’s he did know with other people, even if that person was a mutual friend. “I tried firecalling him the other day. His house elf told me to tell you to stop sending unwanted letters, and that we were both naughty, horrid boys who were disturbing her young master and angering her master.” Draco swallowed heavily. “I’m not sure, but I think there might have been blood on her uniform.”

“That settles it. We have to go visit him! It’s not normal, for anyone to be sequestered away like that!” Harry insisted. He was already running around his bedroom, gathering anything of use such as gold and his wand and his invisibility cloak. “We have to go check on him at least.”

“Of course, if you like.” Draco offered gamely. “But how are we getting there?” 

“How did you get here?” Harry questioned with a frown. 

“Portkey, but it’s only set to come to your garden, or to the Atrium at home.” Draco gasped, his eyes going wide and he pulled his wand out of his robe. “Come on, I have an idea.” He grabbed Harry’s hand and all but ran from the room, the brunette trailing behind him. When they were outside of the house, and away from the wards, Draco flung his wand arm out in front of him, his wand in his hand, and he grinned widely as a crack like cannon fire echoed down the street. 

A large purple bus hurtled towards them, breaking at the last possible moment to avoid running them down, and while Harry scrambled backwards out of the way Draco merely stood his ground. He turned to look at his friend, sprawled out on the pavement, and he smirked. 

“Welcome to the-” A fairly young man with pimples and greasy hair started to say as the doors opened, but Draco interrupted him. 

“The Knight Bus will bring us where we want to go,” he told Harry, raising his chin into the air. He boarded and passed a small handful of Galleons to the Conductor. “We would like to go to Canterbury.3 Theodore Nott lives with the Archbishop of Canterbury at Lambeth Palace.”4

Stan Shunpike, the Conductor of the Knight Bus, looked over at the driver. Ernie nodded his head, and put the bus in gear. Harry jumped on, and took a seat (not paying, as Draco had paid for the both of them), and as the bus pulled away from the curb Harry had to grab on to the window frame to stop himself from falling off of his chair. 

They were on their way, and Harry was not looking forward to the ride. 

**XXX**

 

1 – Author of Hogwarts: A History…. Found two different names, so am leaving it blank.   
2 – Redhill, Guildford and Woking are all real railway stations in the Borough of Surrey. Surrey town is actually a very small place. Little Whinging is a fictitious town, but Woking is a real place. I couldn’t find reference to where Hermione lived, so I chose this place. It’s not close to Harry’s house, but it’s not too far away either. I have no idea how close Redhill Station is to Little Whinging, so I’m sorry if what I wrote is incorrect.   
3 – Canterbury is located along the M2, to the very south-east of England. Surrey is South of London, along the M25. They are no where near each other!   
4 - Lambeth Palace is actually the residence of the Archbishop of Canterbury. Theaodore Nott is a rich and influential man, and despite the fact that he is not Muggle, he was enthroned at Canterbury Cathedral on February 27th 2003 (the actual date of the real Archbishop’s enthronement!) and now works as a liaison to the Ministry on behalf of the Catholic Church. 

* * * 

Thank you for reading. This chapter was unbearably hard for me to write, so I hope you all feel kind enough to review? I’ll feel better…


	23. Chapter 22

Ok. I finally decided to set up a facebook account just for fiction related things. So here is it. According to an FFNet poll, I expect at least 70 of you to add me :P http://www.facebook.com/aisling.siobhan.3?sk=wall

 **Words:** 3,965  
 **Chapter 22**  
August 11th 1992.

They must have been about half way there when the first person got off of the bus. Three more got on though, so they had to wait a little while so that everyone could pay and find their seats. 

“Is that where Theo really lives?” Harry finally asked his voice breathy with surprise. 

“Well of course! Did you think his father betraying the Dark Lord was the only reason we think of him as a traitor?” Draco scoffed. “Imagine, living completely surrounded by Muggles!” Harry gave a pointed cough, and Draco rolled his eyes at him. “Well you have no choice, do you? But Theaodore Nott didn’t have to take the job! Apparently his wife was from Canterbury, so they moved there when the Ministry offered him the job. He actually has a degree in Religion from a,” Draco cast an inconspicuous look around the bus, making sure that no one of consequence was riding with them, and then said, “ _Muggle University_! A Muggle school, Harry! A degree in Muggle religion, what was he thinking? It’s as bad as taking Muggle Studies to NEWT level!” The blond sneered darkly at the thought. 

“Do you think that has anything to do with why the Dark Lord wouldn’t rescue his wife for him?” Harry asked curiously. It was always a good idea to remember little facts such as this; it helped put Voldemort’s character into perspective. 

“Well he did, didn’t he? But Theaodore wouldn’t wait long enough! Traitor,” Draco muttered, his face flushed in anger. “Father never mentioned anything about the Dark Lord disliking Nott’s education. At least he was educated, I suppose, but none of the others made a habit of keeping their dislike silent. I think, if some of the other’s had their way, Theaodore would be dead and not his wife.” 

“So he isn’t popular,” Harry said to himself, “it won’t be too hard, then, to get Theo out of his custody?”

Draco’s eyebrows furrowed and he scowled slightly. “Why? I doubt Rosier will adopt him anyway! The man barely stands having me around without father there, and we’ve been friends for years!” Draco gave a chuckle, smirking now. “Why would he want another child around, Harry? He isn’t known for being a paternal person!” 

Harry looked at him curiously, thinking the words over, but didn’t speak. He’d talk to Evan and Lucius about it later, after they found out the truth about Theo’s home life. Lucius had always been kind to children, even the Muggle ones that were kidnapped on raids. He hadn’t hurt them, but he didn’t save them either. Though this time it was a Wizarding child at stake, so maybe Lucius would be more open to the idea? Surely there was some sort of child protection system in the Wizarding World? Someone would have to help Theodore. 

They spent the rest of the bus ride sitting in silence, both of them staring out of opposite windows. Trees blurred together as they sped past, and Harry felt something coiling and uncoiling in his stomach and realised it was nervousness. He was nervous, and rightly so. What had they been thinking? Just appearing outside of Lambeth Palace and expecting to be taken as a serious threat, it was a ridiculous idea. But there was no going back now. He and Draco would just have to face the situation head on, and hope that they Death Eater they were planning to accuse of child abuse was wary enough of Lord Malfoy to not kill either of them on the spot. 

“Canterbury, your stop,” Ernie shouted, poking his head around the screen that hid his seat from view. Draco and Harry looked over at him, and stood simultaneously. 

“Thank you,” Harry said softly as he stepped off of the Knight Bus, offering a small smile to Stan. 

Draco raised his head a little, turning his nose up at the pair standing at the front of the bus. He offered no thanks or goodbye as he stepped from the purple vehicle and onto solid ground again. “Well thank Merlin that that’s over!” He said, breathing a sigh of relief. Ernie’s driving had been terrible. “Now I understand why father never takes the Knight Bus.”

“Lucius doesn’t take the bus? Ever?” Draco shook his head, slowly, unsure why Harry was repeating something he had just said. “And you only thought to mention this now?” 

Draco gave him a sneer, but reached over to grab onto Harry’s arm in case they got separated. “What use would it have been? We had to get the bus, unless you were planning to wait for Rosier to come home and apparate us here?” 

There was a crowd. People milled around, knocking into each other, and crossing the streets to avoid each other, and generally just bustling about like the world was running out of time. Draco was bumped into several times, and each time he snarled at the person responsible, his pale face flushed with indignation. “How dare they? Filthy beasts!” Draco hissed to himself, reaching out to steady Harry as a man ran into the brunette child and nearly knocked him to the ground. 1

“There it is!” Harry said, squeezing lightly on Draco’s hand. 

The Knight Bus had dropped them off at the end of the road, to avoid the pedestrianised area. Ahead of them towered a huge building, made of grey stone. It was almost square in shape, except that there was a second part attached to the square building, and it made it appear more rectangular. Harry thought he saw a person walking _through_ the second part of Lambeth Palace, and to be sure he wasn’t seeing things, he pointed that out to Draco. 

“Oh that’s where the Notts’ live. It’s warded so that the Muggles can’t see it or feel it, so occasionally they happen to walk through it. It’s not that unusual. Have you ever seen a Muggle trying to find their way around Hogwarts?” Draco chuckled, as if the thought was particularly amusing to him. In Hogwarts: A History it was written that a Muggle would just wander around unhindered, seeing only rubble and stone foundations as if a long, long time ago something had once stood in the empty field where Hogwarts existed. That wasn’t really a funny thought, Harry thought, before realising that whatever particular Muggle Draco had been told about, was probably being attacked by Wizards at the time of his ‘finding his way around Hogwarts’. 

Harry didn’t answer, instead choosing to take a second look at the building they were rapidly approaching. It was almost a castle; the size of Hogwarts Harry would say. There were large turrets, and arrow-slit windows, and old fashioned London chimneys dotted across the structure. Harry thought it was beautiful. There was a familiarity about it, something that likened it to Hogwarts in aesthetics despite being completely devoid of a magical aura. It was a place Harry felt he could become used to, perhaps enjoy living in, withstanding the horrid Death Eater that lived inside. Maybe when the Dark Lord returned, and if Harry chose to side with him, he and Evan might buy somewhere like the Palace to live. It was a far cry nicer than Number 4, Privet Drive. 

“Do we just knock on the door?” Harry asked softly. 

“The two buildings have two separate doors. We’ll need to walk around the back.” Draco said just as softly. The two boys were almost whispering, and the hand that Harry clenched within his own was trembling. Draco was as nervous as he was, though neither boy was willing to show it or admit that this had been a bad idea. They were here now; they had no choice but to continue forward. 

Harry was the first to knock on the door. A couple of Muggles walked right passed him, almost brushing against the back of Draco’s robe, and carried on walking as if the children hadn’t been there. 

“They can’t see us. We’re inside Nott’s wards.” Draco mumbled softly. 

Before Harry could reply, the double doors swung inwards. Light entered the building, lighting up the stained glass windows that lined the corridor behind the House Elf that watched them impatiently. He, or at least Harry though it was a he, was a dirty looking house elf, nothing like anything Harry had ever seen at Malfoy Manor. 

The elf was rude too, and it folded his arms across his chest and snarled, “What do yous brat-sies be wanting?” He didn’t wait for a reply before he said, “yous cannot be seeing Young Master. He is not being well-sies.” The door slammed shut in their faces, before either Harry or Draco could get a word in edge ways. 

They turned to look at each other, identical looks of shock on their faces, and then Draco’s eyes narrowed into slits. Mortified and humbled, two things Malfoys did not like to be, Draco raised his hand again and pounded loudly on the front door. 

“Now see here you filthy creature,” He snarled at the Elf before the door had fully opened. “do you know who you are dealing with? How dare you speak to a Malfoy like that! I ought to-” Before Draco could spit out his threat, Harry shoved him to the ground. 

What Draco hadn’t noticed, but what Harry fortunately had, was that the Elf was holding a wand this time. It had been raised and pointed at Draco, and the vivid red light shot harmlessly over Draco’s head because of Harry, but a poor Muggle a few feet behind them dropped to the ground and started to scream. Harry tried to ignore the wailing Muggle, tried to pretend the effects of the ‘ **Cruciatus** ’ didn’t bother him, and really it wasn’t so hard to put it out of his mind. He was far too worried about the elf whose wand was now turned on _him_! 

Harry’s wand had been brought from Olivander’s shop, so it came with the Ministry required tracking charm on it. That meant that if Harry used magic outside of Hogwarts before he came of age, the Ministry would know about it. There was no telling how much trouble he could get into if he was caught for using underage magic. Fortunately, Harry had taken to carrying around the Yew training-wand that Lucius had bought for him some years back. He didn’t use the wand (his real one was much stronger), but the more he came to realise he liked Lucius, the more he felt like cherishing anything Lucius gave him. It was the same as him loving every single gift Evan had ever given him. 

Harry crouched slowly, reaching into his sock to pull out the wand. He pointed it at the house elf, ignoring Draco’s wide-eyed stare, and snarled, “how dare you?” He cast the first thing that came into his mind, not thinking it through or even hesitating. “ **Evanesco**!” It was the first spell Evan had thought him, the first spell Harry had performed in front of someone other than his father, and just like it had then, the spell vanished what it had been cast on. 

“Where do you think the elf went?” Draco asked slowly, turning to look behind him just in case the foul beast was planning to stab him in the back. “And where did it get a wand from anyway!” 

“That was Theo’s wand,” Harry whispered. It had been familiar looking, now that it was safe enough to think back on the last minute and a half. Harry had recognized the wand, and as he realised this, he felt his heart lodge itself into his throat. “Why would Theo give his wand to a house elf?”

“What respectable house elf attacks Wizards?!” Draco shrieked, far more concerned with his near torture at the hands of Wizarding kind’s servants. 

“Come on!” Harry grabbed Draco by the hand and dragged him towards the still open doorway. Just as he was about to step through the threshold, a different house elf appeared and the double doors slammed closed in their faces. Harry cursed softly, looking into the air and up at the numerous windows above his head. “Do you think any of them belong to Theo?”

Draco didn’t reply. But he did snatch Harry’s training-wand roughly, pointing it at their feet in turn and muttering ‘ **Levicorpus** ’. 

“What the hell?” Harry whispered as they began to rise into the air, slowly at first, and then faster as Draco flicked the wand a second time. “Where did you learn this?”

“My godfather taught it to me. He used to chase me around with floating toys.” Draco shrugged, and kept his face turned away from Harry’s unbelieving stare. 

“Snape… Snape played games with you? Snape? We are thinking of the same Snape, right?” Draco rolled his eyes but kept silent. Of course Harry didn’t know Severus like Draco did. Severus had been practically family growing up, and Evan hated Snape so he kept Harry as far away from the man as possible. Even though they both lived in the same school Harry still went out of his way to avoid the professor, whereas Draco sought out the man’s company in his free time. 

Both boys grabbed onto the closest windowsill and pulled themselves in through the open windows. Nearly every window on that floor level was open, and rightly so. When they fell into the room, landing painfully as the levitation spell ended, they were assaulted by the coppery scent of blood. 

Draco looked around, warily holding Harry’s yew wand out in front of him. They were in a bedroom, but Harry didn’t recognize any of the dusty possessions as belonging to Theodore. “It’s a woman’s room.” Draco said after a moment of silence. “Mother has one too, separate from her bedchambers. She likes to be alone there and read sometimes. Most women in arranged marriages have their own sets of rooms. Maybe this belonged to Theo’s mum?” 

“It would explain the dust.” Harry said, not needing to add that it didn’t explain the stink of spilt blood. Perhaps this was where Theaodore Nott abused his sons, within the room that had once housed his beloved wife? “Come on, let’s find Theo.”

“Point me,” Draco said, placing the wand flat on his outstretched palm, “Theodore Nott.” 

They followed the spell’s directions out of the room and down the length of the corridor. Everything here smelt mouldy and damp, the scent of blood faded a little, but it was obvious that this part of Lambeth Palace was very rarely used. They didn’t bother to check what was behind the row of closed doors they passed by, they were only interested on the last door on the left, because that was where the yew wand was pointing. 

Hesitantly, Harry nudged the door open. Someone inside whimpered. 

The noise, so scared and pitiful, stole away the nervousness that had been holding Harry back. All that was left now was the need to defend and protect. Theo was his friend, one of his only friends, and no one was allowed to treat Theo like Vernon had treated Harry. Hands clenched at his side, Harry stepped bravely into the room. But there was no Death Eater, or barbaric house elf, inside. 

Theodore was curled up on himself in the corner of the room, tucked half under the windowsill and half hidden by the bed frame. He whimpered again as Harry’s footsteps echoed on the stone floor. 

“Theo?” Harry whispered, not wanting to raise his voice. “It’s Harry. And Draco’s outside the door. We’ve come to rescue you.” Harry stepped around the edge of the bed and gasped. He hadn’t been able to help himself, the sound had left him involuntarily, but he had been so surprised that there wasn’t anything he could have done to silence himself. “Oh Merlin! How bad are you hurt?”

Nearly every part of Theo visible was covered in blood. He lifted his hands and held them out in front of his pale face. Both were flecked with dried tears and blood. 

“It’s not mine.” The child whispered. His whole body was shaking. “F-Father was beating Terrence. Terrence’s tutor was unhappy with his latest essay, so f-father beat him. I tried to help, I tried, and Terrence was bleeding so badly when f-father left. He went to the Ministry.” Theo seemed to have great difficulty with using the word ‘father’, but Harry couldn’t blame him. Calling Vernon his ‘uncle’ had used to make Harry feel sick too. “I tried to help him. I tried but then Ruin came and told me that people were outside. Ruin said I had to hide in my room or he’d tell my father. He took my wand from me, said he had to deal with the brats outside. Misery took Terrence away. They’ve probably gone to the Healer f-father pays to hide the beatings.”

“Who are Misery and Ruin?” Draco asked hesitantly, peeking his head around the doorframe. 

“F-Father’s house elves. He bought them as babies after Mother died. Named them himself,” Theo added, with a hysterical chuckle. 

“Right. Explains their personalities then.” Harry grumbled. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.” Harry grabbed Theo’s arm, hauling him to his feet. “Draco!” Harry called, as he opened the window they were standing beside. 

“ **Levicorpus** ,” Draco repeated the spell for each of them, and then they jumped out of the window. 

Just as they were about to touch the ground, a shadow appeared in the window. Theaodore Nott sneered down at the children. His son was trembling, leaning heavily on the dark haired boy, and the child that was so obviously a Malfoy (and therefore not his intended target) was standing a little distance from them and was the only one armed with a wand. “ **Crucio**!” He hissed, feeling hatred well up within him. 

Harry dropped to the ground first. He felt his blood rushing through his ears, loud and unsteady, pounding hatefully around his skull as his arms and legs contracted and pain raced through his veins. He was writhing unattractively on the ground, screaming and clawing at his face, and he wasn’t sure when the pain ended because he could still feel the tremors running across his skin and through his limbs as Draco and Theo dragged him to his feet and forced him to run. And run, until they were out of Mr. Nott’s spell-range, and they were safe. 

When they stopped moving, Harry was the first to sit down. Well, actually, he fell. His legs gave out beneath him and he landed on the pavement, curling up on his side. His body refused to stop shaking, and his heart was beating so fast that Harry thought it might have burst if he had been held under the Curse much longer. No wonder Lord Voldemort was so fond of that Curse, Harry thought feeling strangely unconnected with his surroundings. If Harry had been a Death Eater, he would have moved Heaven and Hell to make sure that he wasn’t subjected to the ‘ **Cruciatus** ’ ever. It was a horrible experience, and the aftershocks were just as terrible. 

Green eyes looked up at his two friends. Theo, covered in blood, and Draco, who was crying, both stared down at him with worry written on their faces. 

“Can we go home now?” Harry whispered. He fought to sit up, and when he had managed to climb to his unsteady feet, Draco held out his wand arm. 

With a crack and a drawn out honking of it’s horn, the Knight Bus appeared and stopped before them. “Three to Little Whing…ing…” Harry trailed off, his eyes widening. 

Ernie, the driver, was looking out through the windscreen, not wanting anything to do with what was happening. Stan had slunk away down to the other end of the bus and was busy not looking over at them. In the threshold of the bus’ doorway, Lucius Malfoy folded his arms across his chest and appraised the three twelve-year-olds through narrowed, angry eyes. 

“What is the meaning of _this_?” He hissed. Draco flinched at the tone of his father’s voice, knowing full well that they were all in some serious trouble. Lucius’ expression softened as he took in the blood staining Theodore and the scarily familiar tremors that Harry couldn’t seem to fight off. “Get on the Bus,” he ordered sternly, stepping out of their way. “We’ll talk about this later, make no mistake of that.” He walked towards one of the beds, his cane tapping against the floor. Lucius crossed his legs when he sat, balancing his cane across his knees and folding his hands on top. “Take a seat. It’s a long ride to Surrey.”

Draco had to help Harry to a bed, but when he was seated the boy scooted sideways to rest against Lucius’ side. Theodore’s eyes widened at the action, but he bit his tongue to avoid asking anything that would get him into even more trouble. Lucius’ right hand buried itself in Harry’s hair, and the child let out a soft sigh before his eyes slipped closed. As he slept, Harry escaped the tension that had spread throughout the Bus. The other passengers had moved up to the second floor when Lucius Malfoy had stepped on, resplendent in his expensive robes and his fury. Draco and Theo sat stiffly, not enjoying the silence or Ernie’s driving. 

Lucius kept carding his hand through Harry’s hair, though he never once looked down at the child. Instead he looked over at Theodore. 

“It was your father whom Crucioed Harry,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. Theodore didn’t need to answer him, but he nodded anyway, keeping his gaze lowered. Draco was looking directly at his father though, and he smiled softly as Lucius’ face tightened in anger that wasn’t directed at them. 

Theaodore Nott was going to be a sorry man, Draco mused, chuckling softly. 

“Cease laughing, Draco. You have nothing to be amused by. When we get home, you are due at least ten lashes.” Lucius said it calmly, ignoring the flinch Theodore gave at the thought of physical punishment, and smirked as Draco began to scowl. “Oh don’t be like that, Dragon. What did you expect, running off like that? You’ll all be lucky if Evan doesn’t torture you before I get around to using my cane on your backside.”

Draco pouted, looking quickly from Harry to Lucius. “Will Harry get caned too?” He asked, sounding slightly hopeful. 

“No. He is not my child to punish.” Lucius tried not to flush, but the thought of having Harry bent over his knee mewling was enough to arouse any red-blooded man. He turned his face away to hide the redness on his cheeks, and missed the smug grin that Draco was now sporting. 

So he might get punished for helping Harry rescue a friend. His father would never actually harm him, so it wasn’t that big of a deal really. But this, this Draco could work with. His father was blushing, over thoughts of Harry. That was blackmail material for their next Diagon Alley visit! 

Lucius paid no more attention to his son or his son’s friend for the rest of the drive. Instead, he tapped his fingers rhythmically against his knee, and the other hand kept on petting Harry’s hair. But it was when Lucius pressed a soft kiss to Harry’s forehead that the boy finally stopped trembling. He slept soundly, and Lucius didn’t even wake him when they arrived at their stop. He chose, instead, to carry Harry Potter through the threshold of Number 4, Privet Drive. 

Evan scowled at him, and then glared at the children. 

“Inside. Now.” He snarled.

 **XXX**

1 – I don’t know how to describe it. Lambeth Palace is sort of, actually, on a riverfront. The other side of the Palace is surrounded by grass and walkways. It’s highly unlikely that there will be people around like I described. But, for my sake, let’s say there was Mass or a festival or something going on.


	24. Chapter 23

**Words:** 4,522  
 **Chapter 23**  
August 12th 1992. 

The Hogwarts letters had arrived. 

Three owls swooped in through the open window in the kitchen and dropped down onto the table. Evan scowled at the birds, but he reached forward nonetheless to relieve them of their burdens. Lucius held his hand out, taking the letter that was meant for his son and reading over it in silence. Evan did the same with Harry’s letter, but then held Theodore’s out without a word. 

The three children were leaning against the kitchen counter, looking guilty and upset. Theo quietly took his letter and read it, before handing it to his friends to read. Harry and Draco shot each other quick glances, a half smile played over the blond’s lips before he caught his father’s glare. Draco sighed loudly, rolling his eyes, and his shoulders hunched over as he begun to sulk. 

“Please father!” Harry whispered, blinking his eyes hopefully. “Oh please let us!”

Evan didn’t even turn around to look at him. Harry frowned at the back of the man’s head, his fingers tapping nervously against his thighs. 

“We discussed this last night, child.” The man spoke softly, but Harry could still hear the subtle anger in his tone. Draco had been spanked last night, Harry knew, but Evan had yet to punish him. Harry knew Evan would never physically hurt him, not after what Harry had been through with Vernon over the years, but that didn’t mean that Evan couldn’t punish Harry in other, equally painful ways. “You are irresponsible and irrational. The behaviour you all exhibited last night was impulsive and stupid, and incredibly dangerous! If you are going to act like a child, my son, I will treat you as one. Children do not have the privilege of attending Hogwarts, so why should you have need to buy Hogwarts supplies?” He finally turned, meeting Harry’s eyes in a cold stare. 

Harry lowered his in submission, ducking his head in shame. Beside him, the other children who hadn’t been told of Evan’s decision gasped loudly. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmured. 

“You can’t keep him out of Hogwarts! You can’t!” Draco cried, reaching over to squeeze Harry’s hand. “Father?” Grey eyes widened imploringly as Lucius turned his head towards them. 

The elder Wizard took a sip of his coffee and allowed a smile to tug at the corners of his mouth. “As much as I would delight in Harry’s company throughout the entire day I’m afraid, Draco, you are right. Mr. Alfred is merely forbidding him from attending Diagon Alley this summer. He is… grounded, I suppose.” Draco’s jaw dropped, looking horribly surprised. “And so are you.”

“WHAT?” The child shrieked. Lucius fingered the head of his cane, and Draco immediately fell silent, biting down on his bottom lip. 

“What about me?” Theodore whispered. He was shaking all over, eyeing Lucius’ cane with obvious fear. 

“You are neither of our children to punish, Mr. Nott,” Lucius said softly. He eyed the boy in concern. “But as we intend to shop for our children, we may as well purchase your supplies also.”

“Unless you want to come alone with us?” Evan grinned at the child, baring his teeth. 

Theo shook his head quickly, his eyes on the ground between him and the adults. He didn’t speak again until Lucius and Evan left the room. 

“This is crap!” Draco scowled, throwing himself into one of the kitchen chairs. His father would be disgusted by the boy’s posture, but Draco felt rather smug with himself and what he considered to be a mild act of rebellion. “How dare father ground me? Wait until mother hears of this!”

“Are you going to tell her you ran away on the Knight Bus, broke into a hostile Death Eater’s home, kidnapped his son, and watched me get tortured after we all jumped out of a window?” Draco remained silent. Harry grinned, “didn’t think so.”

“I- I don’t think I thanked you,” Theo whispered. 

“No,” Draco said with a scowl, “you didn’t. And don’t bother either. Look what came of it?” He leant back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest, still scowling. The adults had left the Hogwarts letters behind, and Draco grabbed his and clenched it in his fist. “This is crap,” he said again. 

Harry smiled softly at him. “It’s only three weeks, Draco. Hopefully they’ll get sick of us complaining by then.” 

“But,” Theo said softly, “You shouldn’t do that. Your f-fathers have punished you, you have no right to argue with that punishment.” He stumbled over the word ‘father’, his eyes locking on Harry’s face as he tried to puzzle out who exactly Evan Rosier was to Harry Potter. 

“Your father is an abusive prick. My father loves me.” Draco said with a roll of his eyes. 

Harry chuckled lightly, smirking over at his friend. Draco simply glared back. “He has a point though. I would never have talked back to my uncle, but with Tennyson, there’s a time and a place. Sometimes it’s ok to argue, because that’s what makes you an individual person and not a clone or a servant or a house-elf.”

“Not elves like yours though Nott!” Draco muttered. “There are times, mainly in public places or you know when they are trying to save your life or something, when we would listen without question.”

“You’ll get used to it, and to Tennyson. He’s a bit much to take in at first, but I adore him.” Harry promised, squeezing Theo’s shoulder. 

“Why?” Draco hissed, eyes narrowed. “It’s not like he’s staying here! You can’t expect Mr. Alfred to take in every stray you pick up! What about the Mudblood? Hmm? You expect her to live here too?” 

Harry rolled his eyes, but Theodore didn’t hear what he said in reply. He was too busy staring at Evan Rosier, who was leaning against the kitchen door, and had been previously unnoticed. The Death Eater held his finger to his mouth, and Theo clamped his mouth shut. He didn’t know who Tennyson Alfred was, other than the fact that Harry lived with him and he was a friend of Lucius Malfoy’s. Theaodore Nott had never spoken about the man, even though they were both Death Eaters in the higher circles and should have known each other, and Harry didn’t seem inclined to share all that much about his ‘father’ either. It made Theo suspicious. It also kind of scared him a little too, but Harry obviously trusted the man and Harry had gone all the way to Canterbury with Draco to rescue him, so Theo supposed he could hold his tongue a little longer. 

The twelve year old nodded at Evan, and turned away, forcing a smile as Harry bumped his shoulder and said, “isn’t that right, Theo?”

He hadn’t been listening, and he didn’t know how to answer. So he just grinned, and shrugged, and let the other two boys start another argument over nothing. 

_XXX_

August 19th 1992. 

The week had passed quickly enough, but it wasn’t fast enough for Draco. Lucius had brought the boy home on Friday the 14th and had yet to let him go back to Surrey to visit Harry and Theo. All three of the boys were still grounded, which for Harry and Theo meant house arrest. Evan wouldn’t even let them go as far as the café where Petunia worked! Every time they went into the garden, where the wards would not detect their underage magic, Evan made sure to take their wands off of them. 

Harry had given up protesting. Begging hadn’t swayed the man, nor had pouting or crying, Draco had thrown the biggest temper tantrum in the world, completely with kicking and screaming and exploding priceless heirlooms, and yet neither adult Wizard had been moved. Each time the children had been met with level stares; cold and unaffected and piercing, until eventually they had to look away from their fathers, unable to keep their gazes any longer. 

Being unbelievably bored out of their minds, Harry and Theo had completed all of their summer assignments. Lucius had appeared with Severus one morning, both of them ignoring Vernon Dursley who stood scowling in the background, and had presented Theodore with a certificate, declaring him a Ward of the ministry, and his trunk full of clothes and textbooks. Inside the trunk, unfortunately, was all of the homework Theo was expected to have done by the first of September. They worked on it together, and they exchanged owls with Draco and Lucius sometimes, and once a Wizarding Services worker even came by to visit Theodore but she hadn’t stayed long. 

It had made Harry wonder why, though, no one from Wizarding Services had ever visited him as a child.

Harry looked over at his friend. Theodore was staring at him, and had been for the last hour and a half. Harry had finally decided to tell Theo the truth about Vernon and Evan and Tennyson, and Theo had taken it well at first. But then it had actually _sunk_ in, and ever since Harry had felt eyes burning holes in the back of his head. 

“I’m trying to read here, Theo!” The child saviour hissed, narrowing his eyes at his friend. 

Brown eyes widened, “I can’t believe you live with Evan **Rosier**! He’s supposed to be dead! He’s meant to be horrible! Everyone was afraid of him!” 

“Yes,” Harry said, sounding rather put-upon, “you’ve told me twelve times already, thanks.” 

The bedroom door opened and cut off anything that Theo was going to say in response. Evan stood there, looking between the two of them quickly before settling his gaze on Theo. 

“Make yourself presentable. The Ministry requires your presence.” He said shortly. He made his way into the room and paused beside Harry. The boy looked up and smiled widely, leaning forward so that Evan didn’t have to reach far to cup his cheek. “I presume you will be fine alone for an hour at the most? I need to apparate him to Malfoy Manor and apparate him back when he and Lucius are finished at the Ministry.”

“I’ll be fine!” Harry said softly, still smiling. Evan’s thumb pressed gently across Harry’s cheek, almost like a caress, and Theo’s eyes locked onto the movement. 

“Be good.” Evan warned, turning sharply to pin Theo with a narrowed eyed stare. “Are you ready?”

Theo sort of wanted to brush his teeth again, before going to the Ministry, and he wanted to change his robes and socks. But he didn’t want to admit that he had been too busy staring at the couple, watching them interact, even though he knew Evan probably had noticed. So he just nodded furiously, and silently followed Evan from the room. Harry watched them from the top of the stairs, leaning over the balcony as Theodore went towards the garden as if it were a gallows. With one last look over his bony shoulder, Theodore smiled at Harry and gritted his teeth. The moment he stepped outside, Evan apparated him away. 

Harry sat back on the top step of the stairs. He rested his hands on his knees and sighed loudly. This was the first time he had really been alone since they had gone to rescue Theo, and it felt a little unusual. Harry half wished Evan had brought Draco over when he had come to collect Theodore, but then again, if Draco was here Harry would never finish the book he was reading. Evan wanted a report on the principles of transcendentalism, which was philosophical and therefore rather confusing, done before Harry headed back to Hogwarts. The book had 216 pages and Harry had only read about 50 so far. 

He snorted lightly. “I’m screwed,” he whispered to himself, a little annoyed over the fact that Evan even wanted him to learn about something so obscure and useless! “That’s what I get for telling him I had finished all of my summer work, I suppose.” He mumbled, as he headed back towards his bedroom. 

Harry stopped short at the threshold. Green eyes widened in shock and he took an involuntary step backwards. There was a house elf in his bedroom; one he didn’t recognize. The creature tilted its head to one side when it noticed Harry, studying the child curiously as it blinked its large tennis-ball eyes. Wrinkled hands smoothes down the pink pillowcase it wore, palms pressing against the gold and turquoise ‘G’ engraved on its chest, and then it bowed at the waist. 

“Harry Potter,” the house elf drawled. “I’m so excited to meet you.” It spoke English perfectly, so unlike Misery and Ruin and Dobby. Harry frowned at the creature that had jogged forward and taken hold of his left arm. Its fingers were pressed against his left forearm: pressing against where the Dark Mark would have gone should Harry ever choose to be marked, rubbing the clothed skin almost reverently. “There is someone else who would like to meet you.” Yellow eyed rolled once in their sockets and fluttered closed. When they opened again, they were red. The House Elf’s mouth was wide with a smile, teeth displayed, as nails bit into Harry’s skin. “He’s half-dead from anticipation, Harry. It’s been such a long time.”

Harry opened his mouth. The sight of those red eyes staring at him had him flinching backwards, struggling to free his arm from the elf’s surprisingly strong grip. Without a sound, the Elf disappeared from the room. And it took Harry with him. 

_XXX_

Same time. 

Harry blinked slowly, trying to get used to the sudden light that was blinding him. He didn’t know where he was, but he definitely wasn’t in Kansas anymore. The elf was waiting patiently beside him, one hand still locked onto his arm, and Harry tugged harshly, trying to free himself. The house elf didn’t so much as sway at the movement. Instead it turned its yellow eyes up to meet Harry’s gaze and smiled warmly. 

“This way now, please, Mr. Potter.” It pulled Harry out from where they had been standing. Harry looked around in confusion, surprised to find them coming out from a small alleyway between two shops on Diagon Alley! How the hell did the House Elf apparate inside of the Alley? “My magic is a special kind, Harry,” the house elf murmured as if it had read Harry’s thoughts. “We can do things here that Wizards can’t, that Wizards won’t, that some would never dare.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. He had been listening intently, following without protest, but when the house elf had switched from using the word ‘Wizards’ to ‘some’ it put the child on edge. “Who are you?” Harry asked lowly, not wanting anyone to overhear the conversation just in case he was right. “What are you?” 

The elf laughed; its head thrown back and mouth wide open. It didn’t stop walking or slow down though, and Harry nearly had to jog to keep up. “I am a house elf.” The creature said, glancing at Harry from the corner of his eyes. “My new name is ‘Fluturim e Vdekjes’1. I cannot remember my old name.” 

“Can’t remember?” Harry asked softly, “or was made to forget?” The elf laughed louder this time, as it steered Harry into **Flourish & Blotts**, but it didn’t answer the question either way. Harry took that to mean the second answer was probably nearer to the truth. 

“FLUT!” Someone called, sounding furious. Harry looked around, searching for the voice and his eyes widened as they landed on Gilderoy Lockhart. The man was classically handsome, with shinny white teeth, golden hair and a perfect smile, but at the moment he looked terrible. Anger marred his perfect features, and he pushed through the crowd of simpering girl-fans to grab hold of his house elf’s arm. 

The moment there was skin on skin contact, the elf lost its calm composure and begun to tremble and stutter sounding just like all of the other house elves Harry had ever met. Lockhart, on the other hand, calmed down almost immediately. Pretty blue eyes pierced Harry’s soul; gazing into him with such purpose that Harry actually felt a headache coming on. He finally managed to yank his arm out of Flut’s grip, and used that hand to rub at his forehead. 

“Ah!” Lockhart said. Harry’s eyes narrowed. Earlier, even while furious, Gilderoy’s voice was light and airy, but now there was a different feel to it: something deeper and darker, but somehow more pleasing. “I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you, Harry Potter.” He held out his hand, and Harry did as manners dictated he do. He shook the hand, wincing as Lockhart gripped his fingers tightly. When Harry tried to pull away, he found he couldn’t. It was just like when Flut had been dragging him along by the arm. 

Harry narrowed his eyes again. “Who are you? Why did your house elf kidnap me?” 

“Oh Harry!” The man said lightly, waving his free hand dismissively. “We have all year to get to know one another,” he said this casually, but there was a look in his eyes, as he let them travel across Harry’s face before settling on his scar, that Harry didn’t like. “I’m your new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor!” 

Lockhart pulled Harry through the crowd, making his way back to the middle of the bookshop’s ground floor. The house elf trailed silently behind them, but whenever Harry chanced a glance backwards, the creature began shaking and refused to meet his eyes. 

“It’s good to finally meet you Harry. There’s so much I want to talk about with you!” 

It was starting to creep Harry out, the way Lockhart was looking at him. It was almost as if the man was devouring every inch of him with his blue eyes, looking for flaws and imperfections, while cataloguing all of his best points. Harry wasn’t sure if he felt more like a piece of meat waiting to be sold off or an animal to be bred. If it had been Lucius staring at him, Harry’s first thought with have immediately been that the blond was attracted to him, but Gilderoy’s gaze wasn’t quite like that. Harry was a pretty boy (unfortunately, he felt), but there seemed to be a different motivation behind the elder Wizard’s actions than simply lust. 

“Right. Nice to meet you too, but I really have to go now.” Harry went to move away, but Lockhart tugged on his hand. 

Harry ended up stumbling forward, falling against the man’s chest. Lockhart caught him easily, and he gave Harry a wide smile, before turning his face just in time for the cameras to start flashing. Gilderoy almost preened before the press and the fans and the cameras, and all the while he held Harry tucked against his chest. 

At one point, he bent his head to whisper into Harry’s ears, “do you keep a diary, little one? I find that it is a… release, of sorts. Maybe you should try it.” There was a shark like grin on his mouth and Fluturim, who was standing behind them, gave a horrified squeak. For a second, Harry thought that there was something wrong with Lockhart’s eyes, but then the cameras started going off again and he couldn’t see much more than a white light as photo after photo blinded him. 

It was almost an hour later before Lucius and Evan entered the shop. Both men froze in the doorway, sensing that something was different about the store. The journalists were still crowding en mass around Harry and Lockhart. The child had handprint shaped bruises around the tops of both arms and on his shoulders from where Gilderoy had held him tightly. When he caught sight of his father, he waved his arm frantically. 

Vernon Dursley stalked towards them, Lucius following furiously in his wake. “Unhand. My. Nephew.” He said through gritted teeth, pulling his wand on the smirking blond Wizard. 

A laugh, the same laugh that the house elf had given when Harry asked what it was, echoed through the room. 2“Mos budalla, Evan,” the Hogwarts Professor whispered so low that only Rosier could hear him. 

Evan’s eyes narrowed in contemplation. He looked between Harry and Lockhart with a frown on his mouth, and the conclusion he came to was obviously not a pleasant one, because he lowered his wand and ducked his head. He gritted his teeth. 

“My behaviour was uncalled for,” he forced out after a moment of silence. “Harry, come now.” 

Harry tugged at the hand on his shoulder, and it fell away easily. The child moved towards Evan and Lucius, both of whom looked a little confused and uneasy, and rather annoyed. “What’s going on?”

“Get out.” Evan hissed at the child. He didn’t know how Harry had gotten to Diagon Alley, but he could guess it had something to do with the smirking author in front of him. The house elf at the man’s side trembled harder as Harry got further and further away from them. Lucius had followed the boy, waiting down the street for Evan to join them. “Who are you?” Evan asked slowly, half knowing the answer already. 

Perfect white teeth exposed themselves as Lockhart pulled his lips back. It was less of a smile, and more like a face someone would pull while they were being tortured, and Evan felt a chill go down his spine. If this wasn’t who he thought it was, Evan didn’t know what he would do. He wanted so badly to be right. He wanted this to be—

Red eyes flashed at him in warning. “It’s a surprise.” 

Evan gave a grin to match the other Wizard’s. The Death Eater’s shoulders straightened in relief and his eyes brightened in excitement, having received a positive answer to his suspicions. 

Now there was only one thing to worry about. 

“And Harry?” Evan asked, crossing the fingers of one hand behind his back. 

Gilderoy tilted his head to one side, studying Evan carefully. 3“Unë do t'i jap dobi të dyshimit për hir tuaj, Muggle.” A blond eyebrow rose in distaste, and blue eyes ran over the form of Vernon Dursley. 

Inside, Evan was grinning. But in response he merely shrugged. “Beggars can’t be choosers,” he said at last, before tucking his wand into his pocket. Then he turned and shouted at the nearest store clerk, demanding three sets of Hogwarts Second year books. 

“Here,” Lockhart said. He handed over a full collection of Gilderoy Lockhart’s works, the top one covered in squiggles and lines that Evan couldn’t understand but it looked like a badly done signature. “This set is for Harry. Make sure he receives it.”

Evan tilted his head forward; the miniscule motion going unnoticed by the others surrounded them, but Lord Voldemort gave a pleased smirk nonetheless. 

_XXX_

August 24th 1992. 

Harry could still remember the last time he had broken into Lucius’ office. Well, the last time he hadn’t actually broken in. He had been playing hide-and-seek with Draco and something within the room had called to him, and the wards had fallen around the door just as Harry had touched it. This time, Harry had left his bed fully intending on sneaking into Lucius’ study.

The diary would be inside.

Harry knew where Lucius kept it hidden, and he had known since he overheard the elder Wizards talking about the diary and the house elf that it was important somehow. Lord Voldemort had told him to keep a diary, and what better one to keep than the one Lucius guarded so carefully? It might have been stupid, to steal the diary Voldemort (while possessing a house elf) had told Lucius to take care of, but then again why would Voldemort hint about the diary unless he wanted Harry to have it? 

Harry stopped before the study door, his wand dangling loosely from his fingers. He didn’t know how to dismantle wards. His plan had been stupid and compulsive, and he suddenly felt unworthy of his Ravenclaw title. His free hand clenched at his side in frustration. He pressed his forehead against the door, and took two deep breaths to calm himself. 

“I’ll just try the lock,” he whispered to himself. His hand closed around the doorknob and jiggled it. Harry knew for a fact that the door was locked because he had hidden behind a tapestry as Lucius locked and warded the room. The door swung open silently, and Harry let his hand drop to his side limply. “Oh,” he gasped, taking a slow step into the room. 

As soon as he was over the threshold, he could feel it. There was darkness somewhere in this room, and it curled through the air like a fog towards him and hovered around his head and hands. Unconsciously, his feet moved forward, until he found himself crouched in front of the desk drawers. Without a word, one drawer clicked open, as if someone had cast an ‘ **Alhomora** ’ on it, but there was no one in the room but Harry.

A small black diary sat innocently inside the drawer. Harry stared down at it, trying to see why something so pointless could be considered important to the Dark Lord. What could it be that made this little book useful? It didn’t look like much, but perhaps something important was written inside. 

Harry slowly pulled the book from the drawer and began to flick through its pages. His forehead creased in confusion as page after page appeared to be blank. 

“Worthless,” the boy scoffed, throwing the book down onto the desk. Unfortunately, the diary bounced into a vial of ink, knocking them both onto the ground. The vial shattered and soaked Harry’s shoes and the diary in dark purple ink. “‘ **Evanesco** ’,” Harry said twice, cleaning the ink off of his feet and the floor. But the ink remained on the cover of the diary. 

Harry picked it up, wiping at it with his sleeve. He flicked it open again to check how badly damaged the pages were, and his mouth dropped open in surprise as crisp, yellow pages fluttered under his fingertips. They were unblemished and dry, just like they had been when Harry had first opened it. 

Curiosity welled up within him, and Harry couldn’t help himself as he grabbed one of Lucius’ quills and messily wrote, “ _where did the ink go?_ ” onto one of the pages. 

_I absorbed it_ , the diary wrote back almost instantly. 

“Curious and curiouser,” Harry mused, a small smile tugging at his mouth. He tucked the diary into his bathrobe pocket, and quickly cleaned up the mess he had made. He hoped Lucius wouldn’t notice anything amiss in the morning as he pulled the door closed behind him, feeling the wards snap into place again. As he climbed into bed, Harry lay the diary down onto the pillow beside his head. One hand traced the faint gold letters on the cover, reading, ‘T. M. Riddle’, and he said, “Maybe you aren’t so worthless after all.”

 **XXX**

1 – “Fluturim e Vdekjes”: it means ‘Flight of Death’ in Albanian. Do you think Harry will figure it out?   
2 – According to the same translation website, “Mos budalla” means ‘don’t be a fool’ in Albanian. There wasn’t a word for ‘Evan’.   
3 – “unë do t'i jap dobi të dyshimit për hir tuaj” apparently means ‘I will give him the benefit of the doubt for your sake’ in Albanian. Do remember that Voldemort was someone that Evan counted as a friend, and vice versa. Evan was the only Death Eater who was never afraid of the Dark Lord. As such, it is probably safe to assume that since Voldemort spent time in Albania, before and after his defeat by Harry, Evan would have attempted to learn the language with his friend. Perhaps they holidayed together? Sipping cocktails, torturing Muggles and planning world domination while kidnapping snakes from an Albanian forest! 

 

Oh, and RL friends suck ass! I need new friends! Don’t you hate when someone gets a boyfriend and suddenly doesn’t have time for you anymore? And only ever wants to see you if YOU are third wheel? FML.


	25. Chapter 24

**Words:** 3,614  
 **Chapter 24**  
August 31st 1992. 

It was the last day before Hermione had to leave for Hogwarts. She would be turning thirteen in two and a half weeks, and her parents wanted to celebrate the occasion with her. As a result, Mr. and Mrs. Granger had decided to throw a ‘surprise’ birthday party, though it wasn’t much of a surprise since they needed Hermione to invite Harry herself. 

“Here you go, Mione,” he said softly, handing her over the neatly wrapped box. 

She smiled warmly as she took it, but didn’t move to hug Harry, as she had done with her other friends. Harry was the only magical person there. Most of Hermione’s guests were the children of her parents’ friends, or her cousins, or Muggles who lived on her street. Theodore hadn’t been invited and didn’t feel comfortable going with Harry when he had asked. Draco certainly hadn’t been invited, and when Hermione mentioned that Muggles would be present Harry decided not to even mention the party to his friend. 

As Harry was still grounded, it had taken quite a lot of begging and pleading for Evan to allow him to go. Even then, it had only been allowed after Harry had promised to be accompanied at all times. 

The green and brown butterfly sat lightly on top of Harry’s head. Whenever the boy moved too fast, it slid to the side, looking to the rest of the guests as if Harry had a clip fastened above his ear. If was only when no one was looking that Harry prodded Evan back up, until he was sitting safely on the flat part of his head. 

“Oh that’s lovely,” Hermione said, pointing at the butterfly. “Where did you buy it? Is it some sort of tradition, because I’ve never seen many boys wearing such girlish clips before? I’ve never read about anything of the sort.”

“It was a gift,” Harry said simply. He grabbed Hermione’s wrist as she raised her hand to touch Evan, and he squeezed lightly. She gave him a small smile, lowering her eyes apologetically and, when he let her go, her arm dropped to her side. 

“Thank you for the gift.” She smiled at him once more before turning and heading into the kitchen. She placed the box on the countertop and turned around with a plate in her hand. “Would you like some cake?” 

Harry still wasn’t sure whether or not to consider her his friend. She was nosy and bossy and she kept trying to touch him, but she was a good person where it counted. And maybe that was her problem? If Harry joined Voldemort (which was looking more and more likely since Voldemort was sort of back and hadn’t tried to kill him yet), where would Hermione figure into his life? She wasn’t Death Eater material, but then again neither was Theodore. The difference between them was their blood statuses; Theodore might not want to be a Death Eater, but he was Pureblood and would serve his Lord and his family regardless. Hermione was a Mudblood. What use could she be to anyone? She was clever. She was magically powerful, not as much as Harry or Draco, but at least she was stronger than Ron! 

Harry gritted his teeth. He shook his head, softly so as not to dislodge Evan, and he pushed the thoughts from his mind. He was counting his chickens before they hatched, and it was ridiculous of him to do so. Voldemort had not called on him however; he was still neutral, still free. He didn’t need to choose his alliances _yet_. There was still time. 

“Yes, thanks. I would love some cake.” 

Hermione grinned widely at him, and handed him the plate with a large slice of Chocolate Fudge on top. There was whipped cream at one side, and caramel sauce on the other, and Harry felt his mouth watering. She must have prepared it while he was wool gathering, he thought as he reached out to take the plate. 

“Oh, hello,” someone said from behind him. 

Harry turned slowly, fork in his mouth and smiled around it as Hermione’s mother held out her hand to him. He swallowed the cake, feeling rather plebeian as he lowered the fork and placed it silently onto his paper plate. He reached out with his free hand for hers and raised it to his mouth. One soft kiss later he said, “hello Mrs. Granger. How are you?”

“Oh.” She said, sounding surprised but delighted. Her eyes lingered on the back of her own hand, round with amusement. “I’m very well, young man?” She made it sound like a question, and Hermione’s mouth dropped open as she realised what her mother was asking. 

“Oh of course. Mum, this is Harry Potter. You know, from _school_. Harry this is my mother, and my father is over there.” She pointed at a tall man with the same colour hair as Hermione. He seemed to know they were looking at him, because he turned away from whatever he was doing and waved quickly. 

The sun had finished setting by the time Mr Granger made his way towards them. Harry was standing awkwardly, scrapping at his empty plate with his fork in boredom, while mother and daughter talked about nothing beside him. Every now and then, one would turn and say, “don’t you think so?” and Harry, having no idea what they were discussing would just agree hurriedly and then be forgotten about again for a few minutes. He couldn’t walk away. Firstly it would be rude to slight the birthday guest and secondly there was no one else here that he could talk to. 

He could imagine what Evan was thinking, and he allowed a smirk to tug at his lips as he imagined Evan’s low, dry tone whispering, “and you thought this would be fun, because?” in his ear. 

“Something funny Harry?” Hermione’s father asked him. 

“Oh no, sir, just letting my mind wander. My apologies.” He smiled winningly, and both of Hermione’s parents smiled back, but the Witch herself looked at him suspiciously, knowing better than to take his words at face value. 

“What is wrong?” She whispered. Her parents had finally left. Her father had gone to set up the fireworks display,1 now that it was dark enough for them, and her mother was gossiping with some late arrival. 

_I’m bored shitless, I want to go home, why oh why did I come here in the first place? Surrounded by Muggles I have no interest in conversing with, without my real friends, how did I imagine this would be fun?_ , he thought to himself. But he said, instead, “oh just imagining what Draco would have thought of this. A Muggle party. I doubt he’d ever go to one, ever. It might have been funny.”

“Well, no it wouldn’t have. He would have just insulted everyone!” Hermione murmured, looking murderous at the thought of Draco being introduced to her parents. 

“Yes but that **is** fun for Draco, isn’t it?” 

The first set of fireworks hit the sky and exploded, raining down coloured sparks and hypnotising fire. Harry’s eyes were fixed on them, watching wide-eyed as rocket after rocket launched and exploded, lighting up the darkness and hiding the stars momentarily from sight. Someone made his or her way towards him, and beside him Hermione gave a pained moan, but Harry ignored it. Maybe the sound was too loud for her, or something? 

“Oh Harry!” A horridly family voice cooed, “I just knew you would be here!”

Harry gritted his teeth, one hand straying to his pocket to brush lightly over his wand, even though he couldn’t use it. Ron Weasley stared back, face open and smiling, and his hands free of cards or gifts for the birthday girl. 

Instead he handed Harry a card. “Heard I missed your birthday, sorry mate.” 

Harry stared at it, waiting for the card to bite or scratch him. When it did nothing, he reached out and pinched it between the tips of his thumb and forefinger and held it as far from his body as possible. “Um. Yeah, thanks? What are you doing here?”

“Came to see if you were here, of course.” He grinned, flicking his red hair out of his eyes before turning to stare at Hermione. “Oi Granger, go get us a drink or something, yeah?” And then he turned his back on her, dismissing her completely. He only had eyes for Harry. Ron figured that trying to be Hermione’s friend had finally paid off; she had done her job. His knowing her had finally got him into Harry’s presence. 

A moment later, Hermione tapped him on the shoulder. Ron turned, hand outstretched for his drink, and waited. Instead of giving it to him, Hermione threw the contents of the cup at his face, smiling widely as she watched him blink and stammer, mortified. 

“Bitch,” he hissed at her. “Did you see what she did Harry? Harry…?” Ron turned back around, mouth falling open in bemusement. Harry was nowhere in sight. 

Hermione watched the garden door closing, knowing full well that Harry was probably on his way out of the front door by then, but she said nothing about the escape to Ron. Instead, she glared at him, her mouth turned down into a sever frown. 

“Get out of my house. Now, Weasley!” Then she turned her back on _him_ , and left him there, with the eyes of all of Hermione’s guests on his red face. 

_XXX_

September 1st 1992. 

Harry was lucky to have found a compartment to himself. The Hogwarts Express seemed busier than it had last year, and students meandered through the halls and their parents along platform nine and three-quarters noisily. 

Draco and Theo were sitting somewhere else, Harry assumed, but he had arrived late just as the whistle was blowing and so he hadn’t managed to meet up with them. Harry had walked past the various compartments, peering inside for his friends, wishing he could find somewhere quiet to sit alone, and then the couple in this compartment had stood up suddenly and walked away with all of their belongings. Not one to look a gift-Thestral in the mouth, Harry had hurried inside and locked the door. 

The diary was open on his lap, but as the train pulled away from the station Harry only stared at it. What he was meant to do with it he didn’t know, but obviously it was somehow important to Lord Voldemort. 

Harry bit his bottom lip. It would be best to start with the important question, he supposed. “ _Do you belong to Lord Voldemort?_ ”, he wrote, his writing messy as the carriage jerked from side to side as the train picked up speed. 

“ _Why would you ask such a thing?_ ”, was the answer he received. 

This was the first time, since the first time in Lucius’ study that he had communicated with the diary. He had searched through all of his books for any information of relevance, and he had even managed to look through Lucius’ library, but there had been so many books and such little time that he hadn’t actually found any helpful information whatsoever. 

He supposed he had better introduce himself at long last. 

“ _My name is Harry Potter._ ”

“ _Sorry_ ,” the diary wrote back immediately. “ _Can’t say I’ve heard of you. What year is it?_ ” 

“ _1992, September. It’s the first day of Hogwarts. You know of Hogwarts, of course? You must if you belonged to Lord Voldemort. But, well, he hasn’t been around in a long time so you’re probably really old, right? I doubt whatever magic made you updates itself as the years go by?_ ” 

There were a few minutes where nothing was written. It was almost as if the book was thinking, allowing this new information a moment to sink in and process before it could decide what to say. 

“ _1992? My, my, it has been a very long time. It was 1943 when I was created, since I was last in use. How time does fly. Yes, I once belonged to the Dark Lord, he and I were once close, that might be a fitting way to describe our relationship to a stranger I think. Now, explain who you might be? Are you… a friend?_ ” 

Harry could almost taste the hesitancy in the last few words. T. M. Riddle, for it was the only name Harry knew the diary by, seemed curious of him, yet wary. And Harry couldn’t blame him for that. If Harry were a magically enchanted artefact that belonged to a Dark Lord and suddenly ended up in the possession of someone heralded to defeat said Dark Lord while missing out on near fifty years of his ‘life’, Harry wouldn’t be keen to make friends of strangers either. 

“ _I’m a friend_ ”, he told the diary without hesitation. Then, he wondered why he had said that. Wasn’t he just saying to himself a day ago that he didn’t even know if he wanted to join Voldemort? Why was he now telling Voldemort’s potentially only friend, bar Evan, that they were allies? Harry scoffed to himself. Of course they were allies. He would never align himself with the Light, regardless of whether he chose to be a Death Eater or not. It was Voldemort’s side or his own side, but never a side against Voldemort and by association his family and friends. “ _What is your name?_ ”, he asked, trying to push away his thoughts. 

The compartment door swung open, and Harry slammed the diary shut, quill trapped between its pages. 

“I locked that door,” Harry said lowly, narrowing his eyes at the uninvited visitor. 

“Oh, I know, but I asked one of the Prefects to unlock it for me.” The girl was a first year, easily recognizable by the lack of a House crest on her robes. She had a long mane of flame-red hair, and wide brown eyes with a splash of freckles across her nose. If not for her resemblance to a Weasley, Harry might have said she was sort of pretty. “I’m Ginny by the way. I saw you on the platform, but I couldn’t get to you before you boarded the train. Ron has been speaking about you all summer. He writes home about you too, you know. I feel as if I know you already! I’m sure we’ll be great friends.”

Harry frowned at her. His mind was blank, and he struggled to understand what this girl wanted from him. “You’re Ronald’s sister then?” He asked at last. 

“Yes.” She smiled at him, a blush staining her cheeks. She reached forward hesitantly, clasping Harry’s hand in hers for just a second before he ripped it from her grasp. She gasped at his abrupt movement, but her hurt was swept away by her sudden curiosity. “What’s this? Do you write about your friends in here? Do you write about me?” She asked coyly, before she snatched the diary from his lap. Ginny flicked through its blank pages, then stopped to read the only words written in the book. 

“ _My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle_ ”, it said. She repeated the words out loud.

“That isn’t your name, silly.” She wagged a finger teasingly at him, smiling widely. Harry reached forward, arm striking out like a snake, fingers sinking like fangs into the edge of the diary, and he yanked it away. Ginny shrieked as the paper cut her fingers, and drops of blood blossomed like a blooming rose onto the page then disappeared as Tom devoured it like he had the ink. 

“Don’t touch my things. You are not welcome here, now get out.” Harry hissed angrily, glaring at the shaking girl. Ginny looked afraid, and she clutched her bleeding fingers to her chest as she ran from the compartment. 

“ _Whose blood was that?_ ” Tom questioned, in his increasingly familiar curvaceous writing. 

“ _Just some girl. Why?_ ” Harry waited for Tom to answer him. But no answer was forthcoming. He tried again, merely writing Tom’s name with a question mark, and waited. But again he was ignored. So he put the diary away and tucked the quill behind his ear, and closed his eyes. His friends would probably come looking for him soon. Tom would reply soon. Harry merely had to have patience. 

_XXX_

September 2nd 1992. 

The Great Hall was crowed. To Harry it appeared to be bursting at the seams, full of children and teachers, and there was Gilderoy Lockhart at the Head Table shining like a magenta beacon. Harry sat silently beside Draco, his eyes fixed on the blue eyes that were purposely avoiding his gaze, and he ignored the sounds of his housemates eating. 

For some reason they had been sent to bed the night before early, and the Sorting had been postponed until that morning. The rumour going around was that the Weasley twins had somehow managed to sneak into Headmaster Dumbledore’s office and steal the Sorting Hat. Harry didn’t pay any attention to the rumour, because if Fred and George really _had_ done it, they would have made _sure_ that everyone knew it. 

That morning the Sorting had seemed to take forever, and yet only a handful of the new students joined Slytherin. Ginny Weasley had managed to catch his eye as the Hat was pulled from her head, and she had grinned at him while Harry had remained blank-faced until she looked away with a blush. She sat now, at the Gryffindor table beside Ron, staring in his direction. 

A handful of people waved at him, or muttered hello to him as they walked past him on their way from the hall, and Harry turned in his seat to answer politely. His eyes flicked around the Hall, searching out two of his ‘friends’ that he had yet to come across. 

“Has anyone seen the Weasley twins?” He asked a few minutes later, as Theodore was getting up to leave. 

Terrence Nott, Theo’s older brother who had previously been home schooled, had been sent to Slytherin (the only student to ever be sorted at the age of fourteen), and he stood as his brother did. After rescuing Theodore from his father, Draco and Harry hadn’t really paid much mind to his elder and much more abused brother. But in the three weeks since then Lucius had been happily throwing his weight around the Ministry, and now Theaodore Nott was unhappily waiting in Azkaban until his sentencing. With no one else to mind them, Terrence and Theodore had become wards of the Ministry, and with no one to stop him Terrence had pleaded for the right to attend Hogwarts. Though he was very reluctant to wander the halls without his brother at his side. 

“I heard they missed the train,” a girl further up the table shouted down at him. 

“No!” Someone else hissed, “Their parents couldn’t pay their tuition, so the board of governors threw them out!” 

Draco rolled his eyes, and lazily rose to his feet. “Don’t be ridiculous. If they were going to throw any of those useless excuses for Wizards out they would have started with Ronald.” He gave a smug smirk as most of the table turned as one to watch the flush make its way across Ron’s face. The redhead scowled back, but his sister’s hand on his arm kept him in his seat. 

Harry followed his friends from the Hall, ignoring the feeling of Lockhart’s eyes on his back, and once they reached the threshold he paused. “Ugh. Has anyone seen Snape?” 

Before any more could be said, Professor Snape practically ran them down. He rushed through the corridor, the Weasley twins trailing behind him sullenly, but they flashed Harry identical grins when Snape wasn’t looking. 

“Hey,” one said softly. 

“Hi,” the other said, grinning. 

“We flew to school,” they said together. 

Severus whirled around on his heels, eyes narrowed and face pinched in anger and threw a copy of the ‘Daily Prophet’ at them. “You were seen!” 

Harry bent slowly, trying to keep out of Snape’s field of vision. He grabbed the paper off of the floor where George had let it fall and he held it out so that Draco could read it too. The top of the front page was emblazoned with the words “Hogwarts students seen in flying car!” and underneath was a picture of a blue Ford, one redhead at the wheel, and the other (though Harry didn’t know which one was which) waving out of the window. 

“They are in so much trouble,” Draco muttered, once the trio were out of sight. 

Harry stared down the hallway that Snape had headed in, and he smirked at the thought of it not being him in trouble for once. “I bet they’ll love every moment of it.”

Theo finally got the children moving in the direction of the Slytherin dormitory. The small group of students who had crowded around when Snape had started screaming had dispersed by the time Lockhart made his way from the Hall. The Professor stared at Harry’s retreating back, he grinned widely in dark amusement as he felt the familiar throbbing in his chest that only occurred when in the presence of one of his Horcruxes. Red eyes fixed on the deep pocket in Harry’s expensive black robe, and Lord Voldemort knew that his diary was within it. He tapped his own pocket lightly, checking, and was satisfied when he felt the obvious shape of a small book beneath his hand. So far, he hadn’t learnt anything he didn’t already know. But he was patient. 

He could wait. 

**XXX**

1 – When I was a kid, not as far back as 1992 though I’m afraid, I used to have fireworks at my birthday parties, and so did most of my friends. But I understand, that now apparently you need a license? Or at least you do in Ireland as of a few years ago… Private individuals can’t buy them anymore. Which sucks. But yeah, no one give out about the fireworks being illegal, cause they weren’t in the late 1990’s, let alone the early years.


	26. Chapter 25

You get three chapters in one go today, because my internet went for pretty much all of June, and then when I got it fixed it went again a week later and it's been gone since. I had to force an engineer to call out a few hours ago, and he fixed it, but then I had to run into town and get money changed into Sterling... Which is what I hope they use in Scotland lmao! :P

 

 **Words:** 1,764  
 **Chapter 25**  
September 3rd 1992. 

They were on their way to their first Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Harry hadn’t seen the Weasley twins since the night before, but that wasn’t surprising since none of his classes so far were with the Gryffindors and the Weasley twins were actually two years ahead of him. He hadn’t heard any rumours about them being expelled at any rate, so he decided not to worry. Instead, he’d worry about taking lessons with Professor Lockhart. 

They hadn’t had the best first meeting. Over the summer, Lockhart’s house elf had kidnapped Harry from Malfoy Manor and brought him to a book-signing in Diagon Alley. Gilderoy had flaunted him in front of the press and the crowd, and, it appeared to Harry at least, threatened Evan and Lucius a little when they arrived to take him home. He could understand why though, after Evan had explained it to him. But that didn’t excuse the fact that Lord Voldemort had kidnapped him from his friend’s home, somewhere he was meant to be safe, without any difficulty. Harry wasn’t exactly excited by the prospect of spending an entire year with Voldemort. He hadn’t yet decided on his loyalties, but he knew he didn’t want to oppose the Dark Lord. But… did he want to spend an entire year being tested for loyalties or skills he had yet to develop? 

Harry looked up as someone cleared their throat. At his side, Draco gave him a soft nudge and chuckled lightly. “Looks like someone has a fan club,” the blond whispered. 

Standing in front of him, red cheeked and holding a Muggle camera, a mousy-haired boy said, “hi. You’re Harry Potter.”

“Hello,” Harry answered politely, his gaze flicking between the camera and the boy’s plain face. 

“I’m C-Colin Creevey,” the boy stuttered. He held his camera out from his chest, and grinned. “Can I have a picture? So I can prove I met you?” Harry watched him blankly for a moment, and then turned to stare at Draco imploringly.

Instead of helping, as Harry had hoped, Draco grinned widely and slung one arm around Harry’s shoulders. “I can take it, and then Harry you could sign it!” 

As was the way with Harry’s unfortunate luck, Ronald Weasley chose that moment to appear in the courtyard. “Signed photos? Who’s giving out signed photos?” Ron’s voice was loud and scathing and it echoed across the courtyard. People’s heads turned to watch as the redhead bounded up to Harry and threw an arm around him from the opposite side to Draco. “Take a picture the, Creevey,” he demanded. 

“I’m not giving out signed photos!” Harry hissed, shoving both Ron and Draco away from him. He fixed them both with a glare, and narrowed his eyes on Colin. “Go away. I’m not taking a photo wi—.”

Harry froze mid-sentence. The diary in his pocket was practically humming, and Harry felt the dark magic that surrounded it thrum in time with his heartbeat. He looked up, wide eyed and excited, searching for a Death Eater or the Dark Lord himself, but all he could see was Professor Lockhart unhurriedly making his way towards their group. Harry took in the golden hair and the perfectly chiselled features and sighed, wondering what the man _really_ looked like. 

“Potter, what’s this about signed photos?” The blond man asked, grinning widely enough to bare his teeth. 

Harry waited until he couldn’t feel the pulse of the Horcrux anymore and then he answered. “Just a misunderstand, Professor. I’m not giving out signed photos.”

“At least without charging, I’d hope not.” Harry’s head jerked as he raised his eyes to meet his professors. “Don’t look so shocked, Potter. I was in Slytherin after all.”

“Yes, well, I’m a Ravenclaw. And I’m not giving out signed photos, regardless of whether I charge for them or not.” 

“You heard him, boy. Leave.” Colin Creevey let out a soft squeak, and practically ran in the opposite direction to the Professor. Ron’s face had paled so much that his freckles were almost as dark a red as his hair. He gulped, looked after Colin, and swallowed heavily. “Leave.”

“I can’t,” Ron said. “I’m going the same way as you.” 

Lockhart pointed ahead of him, and Ron started walking. A hand fell onto Harry’s shoulder and squeezed, and the brunette held his tongue as the man started leading him towards the Defence classroom. 

They walked in silence, with Draco trailing a little bit behind them and Ron jogging ahead of them. Lockhart released him when they were about to enter the classroom, but stopped Harry from finding a seat by placing his hand lightly on Harry’s back. “Have you had a chance to read over your textbooks yet? I would recommend you do so at the first available opportunity, Mr Potter. You never know what you might learn.”

Harry gave a nod and made his way further into the room, his eyebrows furrowed in thought. Evan had given him his books for Defence. Gilderoy’s entire collection. But his, apparently, had been a gift from the Dark Lord, signed, sealed and delivered he supposed. Signed, Harry thought, suddenly smiling. Voldemort must have written him a message or instructions of some sort, he decided, making a mental note to check after his classes ended for the day. 

“I thought we’d start today with a little quiz,” Lockhart said once everyone was seated. He waved his wand, and a stack of parchment began to make its way around the classroom, dropping one sheet onto every desk until there were none left floating. “You have thirty minutes, start now.”

Unfortunately, the class was a mix of all Houses, as it was considered one of the most important subjects and Lockhart himself had insisted. The Gryffindors murmured loudly amongst themselves, while the Hufflepuffs gasped and looked close to tears as they read over the questions. The Slytherins looked rather pleased with themselves, writing down answers and glancing around the room suspiciously, soon to be copied by the Ravenclaws. But Harry Potter sat still and silent, his pen in his hand, and his eyes wide. He read over the page once again, and looked up to meet amused red eyes that watched him calmly from the teacher’s desk at the front of the room. 

_1\. In what year did Lord Voldemort rise to power?_

_7\. Name the group of people known to have followed the Dark Lord during the first war._

_18\. In your own words, explain at least one goal that the Dark Lord is fighting to achieve._

_24\. Lord Voldemort disappeared for ten years. Where did he go or what was he doing during this time?_

Harry knew that many people would ignore the word ‘ten’ in question 24, and answer with a variation of, ‘he was destroyed by Harry Potter, he had no body, but I think he went to hell’. But he and many of the Slytherins, if not all of them, would know that Lockhart meant the disappearance between 1947 and 1957, during which Voldemort lay low after stealing two heirlooms from a descendant of Hufflepuff. Only Harry knew that the man had also used that time to turn those two items into Horcruxes. 

He wrote down as much, glancing up at Lockhart wearily. This, undoubtedly, was a test as to how much _Harry_ knew, rather than the rest of the class. But while knowing too much could turn out to be bad for his health, lying wouldn’t do him any good either. Voldemort and Evan had been close; Evan had probably told Voldemort everything regarding how much Harry knew or still needed to learn. 

When the half hour ended, and Lockhart manually collected the exam papers, the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs both looked rather shaken. The Professor tutted as he read over the first few papers. “No Mr Weasley,” he said sternly, frowning, “the Dark Lord’s followers were not named ‘those bloody bastards’, though it does have a nice ring to it. Ah! Fortunately for you all, only one person got the answer to number twenty-four correct. Mr Potter, please remain behind. Everyone else, dismissed.” 

The students filed from the room, talking softly to one another, and Harry remained seated at his desk. He shook his head at Draco, who hovered in the doorway, and the blond nodded and walked away. Harry was alone with Lord Voldemort, once again, and he swallowed heavily then looked up to meet the blue-eyed stare with his own narrowed eyes. 

“What is it you wished to talk to me about, my Lord?” He whispered, noticing with amusement that all of the portraits that were in the room last year had vanished. 

“The answer you wrote down.” He started, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “I trust you have not shared your knowledge with another.”

“Evan knows. He and Lucius told me about **them** years ago. Lucius, Evan and Bellatrix Lestrange are all in possession of one item each. Though I suppose Lucius’s is now in my custody. No one else knows.”

Red eyes glanced over him, resting momentarily on his scar, and then moving down to lock onto wide green eyes. “Good. You may leave, Harry.”

He didn’t need telling twice. Harry slipped from his seat, and reached down for his bag with the Ravenclaw crest stitched onto it and swung it over his shoulder. “Good day, Professor,” he said primly, slipping from the classroom. 

Harry walked slowly down the corridor, his thighs trembling as nervousness finally came upon him and the adrenaline of the encounter wore off. Lord Voldemort! Lord Voldemort had seemed threatened by him, but why? Him, of all people. He was nothing! A huge rush of air escaped him as he breathed heavily, leaning back against the wall of the corridor and slipping his hand into his robe pocket. The diary was familiar in his grasp, vibrating with darkness and excitement and _need_. 

“Calm down, will you?” Harry muttered to the book. “It’s not like he wants you back.” 

Harry pushed off from the wall. The feel of the book in his hand had calmed him down somewhat, and he made his way towards his next class. The bell had already rung, and he was already outside of McGonagall’s door by the time he realised he hadn’t been given a note to excuse his tardiness. “Damn Lockhart,” Harry grumbled under his breath, nodding in time with Professor McGonagall’s lecture on time keeping. 

“What kept you?” Hermione whispered, leaning towards him over her desk. 

“Shove off,” he hissed back uncharitably. 

**XXX**

Enjoy! :)


	27. Chapter 26

I'm out of the country for a week from tomorrow (well actually, from 2am fml should probably just fall asleep where I'm sitting or I'm going to be exhausted tomorrow!) so this is the last you'll see of me for a while after that! :( 

I really need to update Through the Looking Glass. I know what's happening, but I just wanna indulge in FrostIron a little longer? 

 

 **Words:** 3,635  
 **Chapter 26**  
October 24th 1992. 

The first month of school had almost flown by. Voldemort didn’t pay Harry anymore special attention, but sometimes Harry had been sure that he was being watched. Flut, Lockhart’s strangely bipolar house elf had appeared twice, both times stuttering and wringing its hands and wanting to tell Harry something but the words had never come out of the creatures mouth. Wide, tennis-ball eyes had glanced worriedly around wherever they were standing at the time, and then coincidentally Professor Lockhart would appear and Flut would disappear with a choked-off cry of terror. Harry tried to ignore it. Most probably the elf was aware its master was possessed and wanted Harry’s help, but if that were the case there was nothing Harry could do for the creature. Worst case scenario, the elf and Harry would be killed. 

Quidditch try outs had been eventful. Harry had made the team almost instantly. He had called his broom to him, a Nimbus 2001 as given to him by Lucius as a ‘entering second year’ gift, and Adam Bradley (who was a Chaser once again) had declared him the Ravenclaw Seeker. Harry hadn’t even had to chase the Snitch! 

Cho Chang, finally over being booted from the team to give Harry her position, tried out for Keeper and got it. The rest of the team remained the same, and Roger Davis, their captain and Beater, had been pretty sure that Ravenclaw would win the House Cup this year… 

Until the Slytherin team came onto the pitch for their try outs and each of them were holding Nimbus 2001’s. Harry had sighed and glared at Draco, who had merely grinned smugly, waving his own broom teasingly. 

“I’m the Slytherin Seeker, Harry,” the blond had said proudly. 

“May the best Seeker win,” Harry had goaded back with a grin. 

The real action of that day had been the Gryffindor try outs. Ronald, still trying to gain Harry’s attention, had refused to be outdone by a Malfoy. He’d mounted one of the school brooms and, without so much as a by-your-leave, had taken to the sky shouting determinedly that he was going to be this year’s Keeper. He ended up being knocked down by his twin brothers, who scored more hoops in those ten minutes than they ever had in any other practise match. 

Hermione had been there, handing out paper invitations to her birthday party, and had been the only one to take pity on Ron. She’d taken him to the Hospital wing, and apparently spent the rest of the night crying in a toilet because he’d called her names. 

Harry had also finally gotten around to reading the note Lord Voldemort left on his defence textbook. He had been walking towards his common room, the book open in his hand, and he’d read the squiggles and lines that had changed as he touched them to form words in English.

 _I’m watching you, Potter. Stay out of trouble._

Harry had scoffed at the message. Of all the things he had been expecting, this seemed so innocent and unimportant. Harry had placed the book back in his bag, rolling his eyes, and then he had stopped dead in the corridor. A voice had hissed in his ear, and he turned in circles, trying to see who had spoken. 

**Kill… Kill…** Came the hissing again. 

But there was no one there. 

“Potter, pay attention!” Davis shouted, throwing the Quaffle in the boy’s direction. Harry swung around on his broom, hanging upside down long enough for the Quaffle to pass over him, and then he pulled himself up. 

“Sorry!” He shouted. “I was thinking!” 

“Think later. Catch the Snitch now, Potter!” 

Harry nodded his ascent, and took off. His broom shot forward a few meters, then he stopped again, his eyes narrowed as he tried to spot a glint of gold in the sky. It was pelting with rain, and the Ravenclaw team were soaked to the bone, but it was their allotted practise time and they had to use it, or lose it. Harry rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them because even with the leather gloves on they were stiff from the cold. 

Something moved in the distance, and Harry shot towards it. By the time he got there though, whatever it was was gone. 

Flut watched Harry. He was standing on top of one of the Quidditch stands, and in his hand the golden Snitch fluttered desperately, trying to escape. As the students began to file back inside, dripping mud and rain water, Flut moved down the steps, getting closer and closer to Harry Potter. 

“Give it back!” He shouted, finger pointed at Harry’s back once they were alone. Everyone else had cleared out of the changing room. Harry fell forward, the elf’s magic knocking him off his feet. “Give back the journal!” 

Fortunately the diary was back in his bedroom, hidden beneath a locking charm Evan had taught him. Harry rolled over, eyes narrowed at the elf, but he couldn’t reach his wand. 

“What do you want?” He asked instead, trying to appear menacing. 

“Give back the journal. It’s not yours!”

“It’s not yours either. And the owner said I could have it.” Harry argued, pulling himself to his feet. 

The elf jumped towards him, finger still pointed. He snarled, “The girl needs it!”

Before Flut could cast anymore magic, a pale hand fell on the creature’s shoulder, squeezing. “Harry, please continue undressing.” 

Harry looked between Professor Lockhart and his dirty Quidditch uniform and frowned. “Nah, I think I’ll get changed in my common room if you don’t mind. The elf is creeping me out.” Not to mention the fact that Voldemort’s eyes were red and avidly taking in the sight of him with his damp clothes almost painted onto his skin. “Thanks, you know, for rescuing me,” Harry murmured as he gathered his stuff. He slipped past the elf and the Dark Lord, and ran across the hallway until he was out of sight. 

Five minutes later, the caretaker grabbed him by the arm. “Look at the mess!” Filch screamed. “Detention! Look at the mess you’ve made!” Harry didn’t have the strength to argue with him, so with a meek nod, he pulled away from the Squib’s grip and carried on towards his common room, still dripping mud. 

_XXX_

October 31st 1992. 

_What a pants week_ , Harry wrote in the diary. 

Tom’s familiar handwriting appeared on the page, as Harry’s scribbles disappeared. _I’m sure it wasn’t so bad. At least you are not trapped in a diary, forced to tolerate whomever owns you or writes to you or throws you around or bleeds on you_. 

_Ok. I get your point. Your life sucks more than mine! Anyway, who threw you around?_ Harry scratched at his forehead, trying to think who he had let near the diary. He was usually so careful to keep it hidden away. 

He was on his own, a pot of ink in one pocket and the diary in one hand. He wrote in it as he made his way down the corridors. Hermione had insisted on going to the Gryffindor House ghost’s death-day party, and because she had no friends she had bullied Harry into going with her. Harry had collected her from Gryffindor tower and walked her back, and was now making his way alone to his own bed. 

_Well, as you’re aware I can see what is happening when I’m left open. Some girl tried to take me at that party. You left me on a table! You left me, like I was unimportant or as if you did not care at all what would have happened to me!_ Tom’s words were dark, as if he were pushing hard against the page in anger, and Harry winced. He had gone to the toilet, and Hermione had offered to hold the diary for him after promising not to write in it. 

_Hermione?_ Harry asked. 

_No_ , came Tom’s reply, his anger seemingly abated for the moment. _Just some girl_.

Someone bumped into him, and automatically, Harry slammed the diary closed and shoved it into his pocket. 

“Oh Ginny,” he whispered with one hand over his heart. “You frightened me.”

She looked at him with wide eyes. Ever since Colin had asked for signed photos back in September, there had been rumours of a Harry Potter fan club going around, and there was no doubt in Harry’s mind that Ginny was the founder if such a club existed. She looked at him, pale and blushing with wavy red hair that reminded him of his mother’s. There was something smeared across her cheek, and Harry leaned forward to brush it off with his fingers. 

“H-H-Harry!” Ginny squeaked, face turning red. She pushed him to the side, holding her cheek where he had touched her and then ran off down the corridor. 

_Girls are weird_ , Harry wrote to Tom. He looked at his finger and wiped it on his robe sleeve. It was only a bit of dirty water, it had probably splashed onto her face while she was walking outside. Harry turned, trying to check outside because he didn’t think it had been raining before but there weren’t any windows nearby. He didn’t hear any rain regardless, but Ginny could have been washing her hair in the bathroom for all he knew, so he ignored it. It was nothing. 

_Why?_ Tom asked. But before Harry could reply, he slipped. A large puddle of water covered the floor for almost the length of the corridor, and as he rounded the corner of the hallway, Harry stepped right in it and fell on his arse. He groaned, rubbing his lower back, and leaning over to scoop up the fallen diary. It was soaking wet, but Harry rubbed the front and back cover on the dry patches of his robe and knew Tom would dry up the pages himself. _Thanks for that_ , Tom wrote, and Harry could almost see him scowling and dripping wet, though he had no idea what Tom looked like.

“The toilet is flooded?” Harry asked out loud, looking at the door where the water appeared to be coming from. He pushed it open, taking care not to slip again, but there was no one inside and the taps weren’t running. “Strange,” he muttered, backing out of the girl’s toilet. 

**Rip… Tear… Kill…**

Harry froze, his hand on the door of the bathroom, and he turned slowly around. Behind him, hanging from a torch bracket on the wall was the caretaker’s cat. Mrs Norris was stiff and Harry wasn’t sure but he thought she looked dead. There was something written above her, and Harry pulled out his diary and scribbled the message down. _The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware... what the hell is going on, Tom?! Who is that hissing at me?_

_It’s begun_ , was Tom’s reply, and no matter what Harry wrote or asked or poured on the diary, Tom would not answer him again. In the end, Harry snuck away from the possibly dead cat and the flooded bathroom and the menacing message with no one the wiser to his having been there. 

The next day, Ginny refused to meet his eyes, even as she walked straight into him four times in the one day. Dumbledore announced that Filch’s cat had been petrified, but would be ok, and Ginny had run from the Great Hall in tears. 

“Animal lover,” Ron had shouted through a mouthful of food, “poor girl cried herself to sleep last night over it.” 

_Why would she have been crying last night?_ Harry asked Tom, once they’d left the Great Hall. Breakfast had been a tedious affair, everyone talking about some girl named Myrtle and about Mrs Norris. Harry was glad to be heading to class, where he could happily ignore Professor Binns and see if Tom would answer him. _They didn’t find the cat until this morning!_

But again, Tom wouldn’t answer him, except to say, _It’s begun_ once more, followed inanely enough by a rather large smiley face. Whatever the hell was happening, Harry thought; Tom sure seemed excited about it. 

_XXX_

November 8th 1992. 

Nothing much happened in the week that followed Mrs Norris’ petrification. Filch was much angrier than usual, but that probably had something to do with the Weasley twins spreading rumours of bestiality and leaving toy cats around the castle. Gryffindor had played Slytherin over the weekend and someone had ended up in the Hospital wing with a broken arm. Harry wasn’t sure who, because he hadn’t actually seen the accident, having left about half way through the match because Lucius had wanted to speak with him in private. Draco had informed him later, looking very confused, that the person in the hospital wing was the boy who had been sitting next to Harry in the spectator stand. Someone had aimed a Bludger straight towards him. 

Harry hadn’t known what to say, though he had immediately written to Tom and asked the boy’s opinion. Tom thought it was that insane house elf again, and Harry made a mental note to speak to Voldemort after today’s Defence lesson. 

He had to stop in at the Hospital wing first though, because Theo was getting a horrible cold and was too chicken to face the medi-woman himself. 

“Hi madam Pomfrey,” Harry said with a large smile. He sat on the edge of one of the beds, watching her bustle around the room. He nodded at the Hufflepuff that was clutching one arm to his chest looking rather pitiful, and the boy offered him a smile in return. That must have been the kid hit by the Bludger, Harry realized. “Who’s in that bed?” Harry pointed at the bed right at the very back of the room, and there was a screen pulled up around it. Draco had said it happened very rarely that they hid patients at Hogwarts. Apparently a girl had been attacked a handful of years ago, and that was the last time anyone had been placed behind a screen as far as the history books remembered. “What’s so special?” He joked. 

The Hufflepuff answered him. “Creevey was brought in really early this morning. He’s like that cat, you know, petrified.”

“That’s enough of that now, boys! What did you want, Potter?”

“Uh,” he stammered, eyes glued to the white screen that hid Colin. “Pepper Up please?”

“Yes, yes,” she murmured as she collected a handful of vials. “There’s a dose going around, alright. I’ve had nearly every Weasley in here this week, the youngest is looking especially unwell, the poor dear. Here you go!”

“Thanks, madam Pomfrey,” Harry said, tucking the vials into his pocket. 

On his way to class, it was unfortunate that he had to walk past the bathroom again. It wasn’t flooded this time, and the writing had been scrubbed from the wall. Harry had never noticed in his first year, but the bathroom was pretty abandoned. According to Hermione, it was haunted by a ghost named Moaning Myrtle, who was the one to flood it on Halloween night. Seemingly she got into a temper on certain days (most days really) and trashed the place. She had died in there, so she didn’t ever really leave it, and the Professors didn’t want to exorcise her though she caused immense amounts of property damage whenever she was in a mood. 

Today, though, the bathroom was not abandoned. 

“Oh hello Harry,” Myrtle simpered, hovering outside of her bathroom door. “I’m standing guard,” she told him, “but you can go inside.”

“Thank you,” he whispered politely. The diary was in one hand, almost inseparable from his person by now, and the other hand shoved open the door. 

“Oh Harry!” Hermione cried as she looked up at him. “It’s only you!” She was sitting on the floor with a familiar redheaded girl, both cross legged and stirring a potion in a cauldron that was held over a small flame. 

“Polyjuice,” Harry said, recognizing it from his lessons with Lucius and Evan. 

“Oh, oh yes,” Hermione happily answered, standing up and brushing herself down. “We’re absolutely convinced we know who the Heir is, so we’re going to go disguised as his friends and sneak in to his common room and make him admit to us what he’s done!” 

“Who do you think it is?” Harry was certain Voldemort had something to do with it, being Slytherin’s heir himself and at the castle for the first time in decades. Tom seemed very impressed by what was going on, so he could have somehow been responsible either, Harry considered, though he hadn’t outright asked yet. 

“Kevin Entwhistle,” the other girl whispered. 

“Oh Harry, you know Ginny, right? She’s my friend,” the muggleborn seemed so happy while saying that, so Harry smiled back at her, not having the heart to tell her that Entwhistle was a muggleborn adopted by Purebloods and passed off as one of them. There was no way he was the Heir to Slytherin, or any other house for that matter. Ginny was likely using Hermione for the potion, lying about Entwhistle, but why. What was in Ravenclaw that Ginny Weasley wanted? 

“I have to go to class,” Harry said at last, “see you later, Hermione.” He nodded goodbye at the redhead, and turned to leave. He didn’t notice how Ginny’s gaze remained fixed on the diary in his hand, even as Hermione went back to her potion. 

Nor did he see Flut, who was pretending to clean the torch bracket that Mrs Norris had been hung from. The elf took a step towards Harry, as the boy left the bathroom, opening the diary and searching for a quill. 

“Here,” Voldemort offered, “use mine.” Flut disappeared as the Dark Lord’s hand fell on Harry’s shoulder. 

“Something very strange is going on,” the boy muttered, taking the black-feathered quill off of his professor. “Thanks,” he said. 

“You’re welcome, now, are you coming to class?” There was a large grin on the Dark Lord’s face, as his eyes moved to land on the closed bathroom door. The ghost that had been waiting there gave a cry and ran back into the bathroom, shrieking.

“Friend of yours?” Harry asked, with a chuckle. 

Voldemort’s lips twitched, and he shrugged. “You could say that.” 

“What are we doing in class today?” They walked side by side through the castle until they reached the Defence classroom. Harry was the first student there, but Voldemort held the door open for the boy so that they could wait inside. 

“So eager to learn,” he teased. “But today, we’re going to have a history lesson. Professor Binns’ material is rather lacking, as it was when I was in school. Today, **my Harry** ,” the man hissed his name and the child felt his face turning red. No one but Lucius spoke to him like that. Harry liked it when Lucius spoke to him like that, but this, with the Dark Lord, was a little terrifying. “You’re going to learn about the Chamber of Secrets, and what happened when it was opened fifty years ago.”

Harry took a seat at his desk, waiting on the rest of the class to show up. When Kevin Entwhistle entered the room with Hermione, Harry rolled his eyes, taking in the boy’s dishevelled appearance and Hermione’s annoyed frown. Apparently she wasn’t waiting the full month for the potion to be ready before she began interrogating her suspect. The diary lay open before him, and Theo sat next to him and grinned. 

“Father’s trial is at the end of this month. They’re going to decide what happens to me and Terrence then as well.” The dark haired boy prodded the diary. “How come you never write in that anyway? There’s never writing!” 

“I write in it,” Harry defended, hiding the book behind one arm. “I just use ninja ink,” he joked, “now you see it, now you don’t.” 

Theo rolled his eyes. They both nodded at Draco as the blond entered the room and sat down. Ron came in next, talking loudly to the Mudblood from Gryffindor about his sister’s peculiar behaviour, and Harry frowned as he listened. 

“She left her diary at that death-day party, and now she keeps checking everyone who has one, to make sure they didn’t take hers by accident. The weird thing is, she says she hasn’t wrote in it yet. So why does it matter if someone else has it?” Ron complained, taking his seat. 

“Girls are weird,” Dean Thomas agreed. 

_Something strange is going on, and you have something to do with it_ , Harry told Tom, then closed the diary and tucked it away. 

On the teacher’s desk, Voldemort’s own journal was open. And the words Harry had written to Tom appeared on the page. Voldemort read it quickly, his lips quirked in an amused smile. He could not write to Harry, but he could read everything that passed between his Horcruxes. Harry might not know it, but giving the boy the diary was just another test of his loyalties. One he seemed to be passing without difficulty. Regardless of the fact that Harry had yet to declare his loyalties, Voldemort had high hopes for him. 

“Class is beginning.” Voldemort sat back on the desk, watching the class. Everyone fell silent, waiting for Lockhart to continue speaking. “The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware!” He told them, and he kept his eyes on Kevin Entwhistle as he spoke. Most of the class followed his gaze, eyeing the Ravenclaw with distrust, but the Slytherins merely scoffed at the notion. Harry was the only one who saw the amusement dancing in Lockhart’s red eyes. 

**XXX**


	28. Chapter 27

**Words:** 3,088  
 **Chapter 27**  
November 29th 1992. 

Lucius ushered the boy forward with one hand on his back. Theodore looked over his shoulder at the blond Wizard, a nervous half-smile on his face, but obediently began walking faster. 

The corridors of the Ministry stretched out before them, curling and twisting, and lined with doors and people. Theo looked around with wide eyes, swallowing convulsively whenever someone met his gaze. Most of the people didn’t pay any attention to him, but when they stopped outside of Courtroom 7 and his father’s lawyer met his eyes, Theo flinched. He was pressed back against Lucius Malfoy, hands shaking at his sides, but Lucius calmly steered the child around the lawyer and through the large wooden doors. 

Behind them, Terrance shuffled into the room. He was biting his lower lip, looking scared and shaky. Lucius reached back to give him a brief squeeze on his shoulder. He led both teenagers towards the back of the room, and left them beside a small cluster of seats. Harry Potter was already sitting there, along with Draco. Lucius had turned around to mumble something to another adult Wizard, before he took a seat between his son and the boy he desired. The other adult, Vernon Dursley, took a seat in the row behind them. Evan made sure to look around with a bemused expression on his face. After all, Muggles shouldn’t be able to see anything inside of the Ministry; it should have simply appeared as if he were sitting within a run-down factory. Fortunately for him, Evan was only pretending to be a Muggle. 

“Hey,” Harry whispered. Evan had collected him from Hogwarts earlier, disguised by Polyjuice. He had shown Dumbledore a letter owled to him from the Ministry, requesting witnesses to the ‘incident’ at Canterbury to be present at the Ministry by 11am. Draco had been taken from school by his mother, while his father acting as a member of the Board of Governors had arrived later to accompany the Nott children to their father’s judgment. 

Harry and Draco had given their evidence already. Some of the Nott house elves had been questioned under Veritaserum, and their testimony (no matter how involuntary) would have been enough to guarantee Theaodore Nott the Kiss. Terrance and Theodore were only required to be present while the Minister sentenced their father, and while Wizard Welfare representatives decided what should happen to the children. 

Theo sat stiffly, beside Evan, and on his other side his brother pressed against him nervously. Their father was seated in the chair in the middle of the Courtroom, arms chained to the armrests of his seat. He was eyeing his sons with a look that could have killed and a rather unattractive sneer upon his lips. Terrance flinched back, and Theodore turned his face away. He looked at Harry instead, who had twisted in his seat to smile at the brothers. 

“Hey, Harry. Been here long?” Theo questioned in a soft voice.

Harry shrugged. “A while. But could be worse. I could have detention with Lockhart again!”

“You have a lot of those,” Terrance whispered, fighting not to smile. The latest rumours around Hogwarts were that Harry was attempting to seduce Lockhart or that the Professor was attempting to seduce him. Disregarding the fact that the boy was twelve, many people thought it rather odd that they spent all of Harry’s detentions in that one Professor’s office. 

Minister Fudge stood up before Harry could defend himself. The Courtroom fell silent, everyone looking up at their Minister with bated breath. Without further ado, or introduction, or greeting, he said, “ _Sonorus_! Theaodore Nott has been sentenced to fifteen years in Azkaban for child abuse and neglect, with a five year suspended sentence for assaulting the Boy-Who-Lived. He is ordered to pay the cost of this trial, his own solicitor fees and any fees incurred by the prosecuting party. Guards,” he called. Two Dementors floated forwards as he summoned them. “Take the prisoner to Azkaban.” 

Cornelius Fudge looked around the room, nodding at the people he sucked up to on a regular basis, Lucius being the main person, and then he stared down at Harry Potter. His eyes widened, almost having forgotten he had attended the earlier evidential trial, before a slow smile spread on his face. He was probably attempting to be fatherly, or welcoming, or something, but Harry’s eyes narrowed and he sat back a little in his seat. 

“Why is he staring at me?” He asked Evan, just as Fudge sat down. 

Evan just smirked in his direction, watching silently as tall, thin woman stood up. She was plain looking, with short dark hair and a wide mouth. Her eyes landed on the brothers, their mother dead and their father imprisoned, and her mouth turned down in pity. The Wizard Welfare Service, Harry had found out that morning, were the Wizarding world’s equivalent of social services. However, they didn’t only deal with children. They existed to protect women from being abused by their husbands as well. 

It was a nice addition, Harry thought, because some people (women or children) needed all the help they could get. Petunia was another matter entirely. She was a Muggle, firstly, and secondly she wasn’t getting anything she didn’t deserve. She had spent years tormenting Harry, allowing him to be beaten and attacked. He felt no need to report Evan’s abuse of her to the Welfare people. And anyway, she wasn’t really his wife. Her husband was dead. The Wizard Welfare weren’t authorized to investigate any relationship but the parent/child one, or the one between spouses. 

“Terrance Augustine and Theodore Titus Nott,” the woman called, reading from a piece of velum. “You are henceforth Wards of the Ministry. A family may seek to adopt or foster either of you, though, because of your age that is very unlikely. Should it occur, they would be responsible for all of your needs. You financial needs will be met by the Ministry if such an event does not occur, up until your twenty-first birthday, and your educational needs will be seen to by your designated school, in this instance, Hogwarts, up until your nineteenth birthday. The Ministry will find somewhere for you to live, but for the moment it is suggested that you both spend the holidays at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” She sat back down, rolling the velum on her lap and sliding it up the sleeve of her robe. 

Minister Fudge cleared his throat. He stood to address the Courtroom, to dismiss them, but Vernon Dursley spoke first. 

He and Harry had spoken, and the Dark Lord had made no comment either way when they had mentioned it to him. It wouldn’t have been his first choice for a situation, but then again he had never seen himself living with, or loving, the Boy-Who-Lived. Life sometimes threw you for a loop, he had told himself silently as he made his decision. It was only fair that once in a while you got to throw one back!

“I would like to formally request myself for the position of caretaker for Theodore Titus Nott.” He wasn’t offering to adopt the boy, like he had for Harry. It would be too risky to write his real name down on magical adoption papers. They would register automatically, but his name would appear on the Nott family tree tapestry, or on any other tree that was distantly related to Theodore’s. By fostering, though, you didn’t need to sign anything that would signify that you were willing to take a child into your family. Into your home, yes, but into your bloodline? No. Harry was a Rosier, but Theodore would always be a Nott. 

“And who are you?” The woman asked. 

“Matila!” Fudge hissed, glaring over at her. She had stood, while he was still standing, while he had been about to speak. The Muggle could be forgiven; after all, they were all ignorant creatures who didn’t know better. But the Witch should have had more respect. 

“My name is Vernon Dursley. I am, through marriage, Harry Potter’s maternal uncle.” Whispers spread out through the Courtroom. Harry grinned at the back of Evan’s head, Evan who was technically his father, not his uncle. Theo was staring at him, mouth open and wide eyed. Terrance pulled away from where he had been half lying on his younger brother’s shoulder, and was frowning. Neither child had been warned. Evan knew that Theodore knew about him, about whom he was, and the boy hadn’t squealed on him. The same couldn’t be guaranteed for Terrance. He was too much of a risk to let into their home. 

Unfortunately, he would have to stay in the system. 

But Theo, he was coming home with them. Harry wouldn’t settle for anything less. Green eyes were narrowed onto Matila’s face. She looked back at him, “Harry Potter, you say?” She asked sounding a little breathless. “Well, I never!” 

After confirming that, yes, he was Harry’s uncle. The Harry Potter, mind you. Vernon didn’t have any trouble gaining guardianship of the youngest Nott boy. 

_XXX_

December 17th 1992. 

He had been writing to Tom when it had happened. It had been an accident, of course. But that wouldn’t change the fact that it had happened. 

Professors Lockhart and Snape were hosting a duelling club. Hermione, who was still adamant that poor Kevin Entwhistle was the Heir of Slytherin, had insisted Harry attend along with her once she had noticed the other Ravenclaw’s name on the attendance sheet. Draco had been duelling Ron Weasley, and for the first two minutes it had been interesting to watch Ron’s face go red, but for some reason he had yet to lose his grip on his wand, despite Draco knocking him onto the ground repeatedly. Still clutching his wand, Ron hadn’t lost the duel, and lying flat on his face he had cast a stunner at Draco, which he had to duck to avoid. 

Harry had lost interest after Ron’s third fall.

Tom was still being tight-lipped (or worded as the case may be) about the hissing Harry had heard in the walls the month before, or about the petrifications that were becoming more frequent through the school.1 _Some Hufflepuff was petrified yesterday. I heard about it from Hermione. You wouldn’t know anything about it, would you?_

Tom didn’t get a chance to answer him. 

Harry was standing behind the small group of people crowded around the edge of the raised dais. While he had been writing in the diary, the group of people had scattered, leaving him standing in a wide open space alone. Even Hermione had darted out of the way with a gasp. The diary landed on the ground with a thump. Harry landed on the floor shortly after, a pained cry leaving his mouth. Something had crashed into him, and then had landed on his chest. His glasses had been knocked askew, but he didn’t need to see to understand what exactly was on top of him. 

“ **Stupid humans!** ” A voice hissed, terrifyingly close to Harry’s face. “ **Should teach them all a lesson. Should bite them all. Should kill them, stupid humans!** ”

Harry squinted up at the snake that was coiled on his chest. Its head was raised, hood flared out, preparing itself to strike. People were screaming and shouting in panic. Snape had his wand out, and Lockhart had taken three hurried steps forward, but before either of them could act, Harry raised a hand in front of his face. 

“ **I really would rather you didn’t bite me!** ” He shouted, unintentionally speaking in Parseltongue. Voldemort, Evan, and the Malfoys were the only ones who knew he could speak the snake language, and the rest of the room’s occupants reacted accordingly. They all screamed again, gasping and muttering about the ‘heir of Slytherin’, eyes darting between Kevin and Harry. 

The snake drew away, momentarily surprised that someone could communicate with it, and using that distraction Snape vanished the creature. “Detention, Weasley, for summoning a dangerous creature and attacking another student with it!” Snape snarled, looking furious and pale. 

“Malfoy cast that spell!” Ron protested, but his arguments fell on deaf ears. 

Snape was already at Harry’s side, hauling the boy to his feet. He was looking at the brunette in a strange way, but Harry couldn’t figure out what he was thinking. He didn’t know where he stood with Snape. Lucius trusted the man with his life, Evan thought he was a traitor, Voldemort hadn’t mentioned him either way, and sometimes Harry was sure he had caught Snape looking at him with something akin to fondness in his gaze but that was the opposite emotion to which Snape treated him most of the times. “Professor?”

“My office! Now, Potter!” Snape dragged him from the room, unwillingly allowing Lockhart to deal with the mess of the aftermath. 

Harry struggled against Snape’s grip, looking frantically over his shoulder. “Draco! Theo! Hermione!” He called. The three of them, on opposite sides of the room, looked over at him as Snape pulled him through the doorway. Hermione looked terrified, whereas the two Slytherins met his gaze calmly. “The diary!” 

Harry had dropped it when the snake landed on him. It should have still been on the floor beside where he had been lying. The three children searched for it, and Professor Lockhart tried to summon it. But the diary was gone. 

_XXX_

December 25th 1992. 

“Hermione,” Ginny called. She ran up behind the elder girl, lightly placing her hand on Hermione’s arm. “I need to talk to you.”

“Come on,” Hermione whispered to her friend. She was on her way to check the Polyjuice potion anyway, so she led Ginny along behind her. They walked in silence until they reached the abandoned girls’ bathroom. “The potion should be finished today,” Hermione said happily. 

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Ginny swallowed. She scuffed the toe of one shoe against the floor and bit her bottom lip. “I realized that I was wrong. Kevin isn’t the Heir of Slytherin.”2 

Harry speaking Parseltongue during the duelling club had actually fuelled the rumours that Kevin was the Heir, because he had been standing directly opposite Harry, on the other side of the dais. Someone, though no one could remember who, had claimed they saw Kevin wave his wand towards Harry just as Draco summoned the snake. 

Harry speaking Parseltongue had the result of people avoiding him, and Lockhart giving him another set of detentions for being careless and for ‘fanning the flames of fear that had begun spreading across the school already’. But Kevin was still the one receiving the majority of peoples’ suspicion. 

“Do you think Harry is?” Hermione asked breathlessly. She hadn’t spoken much to Harry in the past week. He had gone home for the holidays. But in the days before term ended Harry was too busy searching the castle for the diary, mumbling about someone called Tom. When Hermione had pointed out there was no one in their year called Tom, Harry had glared and walked away from her. She had spent a lot of time researching Parseltongue and Slytherin and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to share what she had found with Harry or not. 

“No.” Ginny said quickly. She knew Harry wasn’t to blame. Despite her protests, the majority of the first years thought that Harry and Kevin may have teamed up, becoming a team of Slytherin’s Heirs! 

“But we don’t need the Polyjuice anymore. I’m sorry.” Ginny pulled her wand from her pocket, knocking something else onto the floor at the same time. With a flick and swish, the Polyjuice potion was gone, and Hermione was gaping at the empty cauldron. 

“Why did you do that?” Hermione shrieked. “That took me a month to make!” 

“I said I was sorry,” Ginny cried, face red and eyes beginning to water. She tucked away her wand, and gasped. “Oh,” she said, looking at the other item that she had dropped. 

A small book was lying open on the floor. “You found your diary then! I’m pleased for you,” Hermione told her, “but you didn’t need to destroy my potion because you changed your mind about the plan, you know!” 

Hermione bent down for the diary, scooping it up. 

Ginny snatched it rather rudely out of her hand, tucking it back into her pocket and almost running from the bathroom. When she was back in her own dorm, hidden behind the closed curtains of her bed, she pulled back out the diary. 

_You are not Harry Potter_ Tom wrote. Ginny swallowed, looking down at the ink that darkened for a moment and then began to seep back into the pages, disappearing completely. _Who are you?_ He asked, these words replacing the last set. 

Ginny picked up her quill, smiling as she dipped it into the ink and touched the tip of it to the page. There was such lightness in her chest, a feeling of freedom in her mind as she wrote. Ever since she had tried to take the diary from Harry on the train there had been this horrible pressure inside of her, the **need** to be with the diary, to hold it and touch it and _write_ in it! And now it was here, with her. It was hers. 

_My name is Ginny Weasley. I’m your new owner now_ , she told Tom. 

If Harry had been there, he would have known that Tom was scowling before he would have needed to read his response. But Ginny waited with a grin for Tom to write something nice to her, something flattering, something that would make her smile as Harry always smiled while he was writing in the diary. 

_Owner?_ Tom would have scoffed if he could, or laughed in the child’s face. _You are nothing to me. Just some girl_! 

He refused to respond to her for the rest of the night. 

Frustrated and disappointed, Ginny grabbed the diary and threw it at the curtain of her bed. It flew through the curtains, and hit one of her dorm mates. With a curse, the other girl hurled it back, and Ginny raised her hands to catch it. 

“Ah!” She cried, catching the diary awkwardly, and cutting the palm of her hand open on its sharp edges. She watched the blood disappear into the pages of the diary. If he could have, Tom would have smiled. But he still refused to write back. 

**XXX**

 

1 – Making an alteration to the CoS timeline here. Justin Finch Fletchley wasn’t petrified until the day AFTER the Duelling Club. I’ve changed it so that it happened beforehand.   
2 – Kevin Entwhistle’s bed is the one beside Harry’s in the Ravenclaw dorm. Ginny wanted to use the Polyjuice to sneak in and steal the diary while Hermione questioned him about being the Heir. Now that she has the diary, she doesn’t need the potion.


	29. Chapter 28

Ok, so I'm back from Scotland but as far as I know I'm working the next 7 days in a row, so... Yeah... Loads of free time :P lol  
There are many photos on facebook and some ended up on tumblr in case anyone cares: aisling selvakumaran and aislingsiobhan respectively :)

 

 **Words:** 3,253  
 **Chapter 28**  
January 6th 1993. 

Harry had waited until his dorm mates were asleep before he pulled the invisibility cloak from his trunk and wrapped it around himself. With careful, silent steps he made his way out of his dorm and into the common room. There was a small blond girl, probably a first year, curled up on one of the couches reading a book upside down. Harry looked her over curiously, from her bare feet, to her silvery-blond hair, and to the book she was immersed in, before gazing at her face. When he looked up, she was staring back at him, as if she knew he were there, as if she could see through the cloak. Harry shrugged away the thought, dismissing it as the girl hearing his footsteps or breath or something, but she certainly wasn’t able to see him. 

He walked past her, not noticing the way her head turned to follow him as he left the common room. 

Harry made it to the Forbidden Forest without passing anyone else. It was pretty late, and it seemed that even the teachers and prefects had gone to bed. It was raining lightly, small drizzles of water that somehow always managed to get you wetter than the heavy, pounding rain could. Harry cast a charm, blocking the water from his cloak and skin, and moved deeper into the forest. 

A snowy white owl soared over head, screeching in greeting as she saw him. Harry smiled up as Hedwig passed by. He hadn’t seen her for a while, not since agreeing to borrow her to Evan. Draco’s eagle owl delivered their mail for them, or the school owls, or a rather ridiculous looking parrot that probably belonged to Lockhart pre-possession. Harry was rather glad to see Hedwig return to him; he had missed their talks in the owlery. Talking to an animal, Harry thought, what would Evan say? 

Then again, he used to speak to the butterfly too, years and years ago.

Evan waited for him in the forest, armed with a small pewter cauldron and a low burning fire. “Hello, Caen,” the Death Eater whispered. 

Harry had only returned to Hogwarts three days ago. He had spent the majority of the Christmas break at Malfoy Manor, with Lucius who was as enthralled as ever, and with Draco and Evan and Narcissa. It had only been three days since he had seen his father, and yet he found he had missed him. Without giving Evan warning, Harry ran into his arms, clinging tightly to the man’s waist and whispered, “Hi.”

“The potion is ready.” Harry looked up at the sound of Evan’s voice. Then looked down at the cauldron, and just as Evan had said, the blue liquid was simmering lightly over the fire. “Just drink a few drops. Hopefully, it will work the way I was told it should.” 

“If Voldemort wanted me to find the diary, wouldn’t he have helped me himself? Why tell you? Are you sure it was him who told you, and not his crazy house elf?” Harry leant down to cup a handful of the potion, curling his fingers up to try and keep it from escaping. “If I die because of this, I’ll haunt you.” And then he ducked his head, slurping the liquid from his hand in an ungainly manner, accompanied by unattractive sucking sounds. 

“How’s it taste?” Evan asked chuckling. His Lord had informed him that nothing could touch the potion but the cauldron and the one who intended to use it. Therefore, Harry had no choice but to drink it from his bare hand. 

“Kinda tastes like me,” the boy said, while wiping his mouth on the back of his clean hand. “Not bad, actually.” 

Evan opened his mouth to speak, but aborted the attempt, choosing instead to dive forward, arms catching Harry as he fell. He shook the boy lightly. Harry’s eyes were closed, but flickering wildly beneath the lids and his mouth was parted slightly as he breathed heavily. He didn’t react to Evan’s shaking, and so the Death Eater stopped. He sat on the ground, cross-legged, and pulled Harry’s unconscious body into his lap. Then, he waited. 

_XXX_

No one had really explained what the potion was going to do exactly. Harry had only been told that it would help him find the diary. 

He hadn’t expected to wake up on the floor of a large stone cavern, surrounded by dust and leaking pipes, with Tom Riddle staring down at him. Harry rolled to his feet, feeling rather disorientated and then terrified as he realized that he was transparent. 

“The potion killed me, didn’t it?” He asked calmly, wondering if the shock had set in yet. 

“You are in the diary,” Tom told him. The navy-eyed boy watched him with awe and glee on his face, unhidden. He strode closer to Harry, hands coming out, striking like a snake, to grab the lapels of Harry’s shirt and tug them even closer. “You are _here_! I’ve waited a long time to meet you, Harry Potter!”

Harry broke Tom’s grip, and found himself falling backwards onto the floor. He grunted as he hit the ground, and climbed painfully to his feet once more. “Where are you? Who has you?”

“It won’t be long, Harry. I have everything in motion, the first stone has been cast and you really shouldn’t interfere.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Harry told him honestly. Whatever was attacking students was none of his business, because despite the rumours that Harry was actually behind the attacks, he didn’t care either way about it. He didn’t hate the Muggleborns being petrified and he didn’t like them either, so he just didn’t care. He only wanted to _know_ , to learn what was going on, and study it, research it until he was satisfied that every detail existing was within his knowledge. “I just want the diary back.”

“I’ve opened the Chamber of Secrets,” Tom breathed excitedly, moving closer to Harry again. Harry didn’t ask how. Instead, Harry took several steps back, mentally groaning as he ended up standing in a rather deep body of water. “This is the Chamber, here, now, as I remember it from fifty years ago.” 

The diary was a Horcrux, Harry knew that. So he also knew that it contained a piece of Voldemort’s soul, a piece that he had split from the rest of his soul fifty years ago. That was when he had first opened the Chamber, Harry assumed, since Voldemort must have been within it before the Horcrux had been made for Tom to retain the visual memories of it. The Chamber was open again, and apparently that was a big deal. Pity Harry didn’t actually know what the Chamber of Secrets was, but it would be the first thing he’d do once he woke up… after he got his diary back!

“Who has the diary, Tom?”

“She’ll help us, you know. She won’t mean to, or realize she is helping us, but she will.” Drops of red began to rain from the sky, and Harry looked up with wide-eyes, subconsciously likening what was happening to how living in a Tim Burton movie would be like. Fat red droplets landed on the floor, and the walls, and spread into the lakes of water. They clung to Tom’s face, and Harry’s and ran like tears down their cheeks. “Even now,” Tom breathed, licking the blood from his lips, “she helps us.”

Whatever the girl who stole the diary was doing, though it appeared as if she were bleeding on it, as strange as that thought was, it was making Tom stronger. He was no longer as transparent as Harry was within the diary, but growing more solid, more defined, with every drop of red that touched him. 

Harry narrowed his eyes. Wondering about how the diary worked. It was absorbing the blood. Like it absorbed the ink on its pages. Feeding off of them. 

“Have you been feeding off of me too, Tom?” Harry asked quietly. 

Navy eyes widened as they met his, and Harry wasn’t sure if the young Dark Lord was honestly surprised by the question, or if he were faking the emotion. The Dark Lord was known to be a brilliant manipulator after all. 

“You are like me!” Tom said, obviously startled. It took him a moment to gather himself, to regain his composure, and he straightened his robes before speaking again. “Before I knew you were like me I would have done, yes. But fortunately for us both that silly girl cut herself upon my pages, and I managed to link myself, my existence to her. I grow stronger faster now, because she keeps offering me her blood, but before, I did use some of your emotions but not enough to harm you. Just enough to keep me existing, until I could find someone better.” Tom turned his face away. “Someone less worthy,” he added in a whisper. One Horcrux to another, one dark Wizard, one half-blood to another, both worth more in Tom’s eyes than the life of a blood-traitor’s child. 

Harry thought back to the early days, when he had first stolen the diary. Who had even seen it, been allowed to touch it while it had still been new and precious to Harry, and still coveted? 

On the Hogwarts Express, there was one girl who had seen the diary, touched it, _bled_ on it. Harry gasped as he realized who Tom was talking about. He thought back to her actions, the way she always stared at him star-struck, followed him places, enquired around the school about her diary which she had lost but had yet to write in. “It’s very important to me,” she had whimpered pathetically to him one day, her eyes fixed on his robe pocket, “it’s blank though. One of a kind.”

Tom was feeding off of someone, sucking away their life and soul and magic to sustain himself. Had that been Voldemort’s plan all along? To use Harry, exchange Harry’s life for Voldemort’s Horcrux, and then use Tom to return to power? Had Evan’s Lord really planned for his death… despite telling Evan otherwise? 

“He keeps an eye on us, you know,” Tom said, as if he knew what Harry was thinking. “My other self, I mean. He watches what we write, follows you in the dead of night when you think you are alone with me, he makes sure that I do not hurt you. Lord Voldemort never lies to his friends, Harry Potter-Rosier, and he keeps his promises.” 

They met each other’s eyes again, navy and emerald, and Harry felt something like relief within his chest, expanding and growing, pushing away the niggling doubt that had spawned within his mind. He hadn’t picked a side yet, not yet, but he was leaning towards the Dark. To learn that Voldemort was already planning his death would have been quite a blow to his long-term career goals. 

“Ginny Weasley?” Harry asked, maintaining eye contact. He didn’t ask what Tom was doing to Ginny. Whether he was merely draining her life, or whether there was more. Whether he could possess her, or leave the diary of his own accord, or whether Harry could ever return to the diary again. “Ginny?” He asked again, instead. 

Tom nodded, leaning forward to lightly brush his lips across Harry’s scar. And then Harry was falling, arms flailing and splashing as he landed in the water. All he could see was Tom’s face hovering above his own, and then he woke up. 

Evan’s face was above his own, calm and unconcerned, but relieved to see green eyes blink up at him owlishly. “Welcome back, my son.” 

_XXX_

January 7th 1993. 

Ginny scowled at the diary she held between her hands. Tom still hadn’t written back. She’d had him almost two weeks now, and apart from the first time, he wouldn’t reply to her, or acknowledge her, and he had even stopped absorbing her written words into the page. In her frustration she had ended up cutting herself twice more on the edges of Tom’s pages, dripping blood onto the ink filled pages, and while the ink remained, the blood disappeared before Ginny’s eyes. 

_What’s so great about my blood?_ She wrote curiously, one time. Tom didn’t reply. 

_Are you a vampire?_ She asked, another time. Tom still didn’t answer her. 

In the end, she had done something very stupid. She had purposely cut her hand, allowing herself to bleed on the pages in the hopes of gaining Tom’s attention. It had hurt, and she had felt very dizzy afterwards, but it had had the intended effect. 

Tom wrote back. 

_Stupid girl. I’d thank you, but you wouldn’t be worth the effort to be honest. Now, give me back to Harry_. His writing was red this time, still cursive and pretty, and Ginny admired it despite the horridness of the words. She felt rather smug knowing that he was writing back to her in her blood. He was hers now, whether he admitted it or not. Not Harry’s. 

So she had kept doing it, kept bleeding on him. But instead of written replies, Tom now drew her pictures. Small doodles, usually of stick figures, but it weren’t hard to guess that the mutilated figures lying on its back was meant to be her. Tom repeatedly drew pictures of her dead, but Ginny ignored them all, brushing them off as unimportant because Tom was hers now. He wouldn’t hurt her. 

**No, no I wouldn’t. I would never hurt you. Just like you would never hurt me. You’d help me, wouldn’t you Ginny? If I asked. I’m asking now. I need your help. I need you to do something for me. Two somethings actually. Please, Ginny. Please? There is no one else I can ask. No one else I can trust. Only you**. The voice was inside of her head, gentle and loving, and it was stupid of her to listen to it, stupid of her to continue to cut open her hand, but there was nothing else she could do. Tom was like the _Imperious_ curse: she just couldn’t resist, couldn’t fight back. She had to obey. 

Harry found Ginny outside a few hours later. There was blood on her hands, and as he was walking over Harry could hear the sounds of birds squawking and necks snapping before silence stretched across Hogwarts’ grounds. But he said nothing about the dead roosters and hens, and nothing about the claw-scratches on Ginny’s arms. 

“Give me my diary, Weasley,” he ordered, not actually expecting her to comply. Harry pulled his wand out of his sleeve and held it, ready to force her to give the diary back. 

Ginny had done one of the things Tom had told her to do. She didn’t want to do the other, but Tom had asked, Tom had made her promise. So she handed over the diary without a fuss, a horrid scowl on her face, and her eyes watered as Harry snatched her only friend from her shaking fingers. 

He turned without a word, the diary clutched against his chest. 

_About time, Harry_ , Tom wrote, and Harry could see him, now that he knew what Tom looked like, plain as day glaring at him in annoyance. _I was getting rather sick of her pitiful whining. Despite her uses, she really was very annoying_. 

_Most little girls are,_ Harry wrote back, pulling a quill from his pocket. It had become a habit of his, to walk everywhere with a quill and a vial of ink, just in case Tom decided to speak to him. 

_This one particularly so though_ , he wrote. Harry thought about writing how whinny Tom was, but then thought better of it, and tucked the diary into his pocket along with the quill. He went back into the castle, and to the dungeons to seek out Draco and Theodore, and he didn’t notice how Ginny stared after him. 

**Go back inside, Ginny** , the voice in her head told her. **Don’t tell anyone about me. Not even Harry. No one can know about us, Ginny**. 

“Don’t leave me,” she whispered out loud, despite knowing that no one was around to hear her. 

**I won’t leave you. Don’t worry! I’ll let you know when it’s safe for us to meet again**. Then the presence in her mind was gone, and Ginny Weasley shook her head harshly, blinking up at the sun and the sky, and wondered how she had come to be outside. 

_XXX_

February 14th 1993. 

_Whose side are you on, Harry? You are my other self’s Horcrux, you possess another part of his soul, being myself, and yet. Yet you never speak about him, or his plans, or our goals, and you don’t ask about the Chamber. What are you going to do when He rises again? Whose side will you choose?_

Harry would have probably told Tom about his indecision, about his desire to wait and bide his time _until_ the Dark Lord returned, but now he knew better. Tom had told him that Voldemort could read what they were writing, and he had spent the last month worrying about all of the past things he had written and whether they had sounded disloyal or rebellious, and whether Voldemort would decide to kill him based off of his private conversations with an empty book.

 _I don’t want to talk about it right now_ , Harry wrote back sloppily. He had textbooks pilled upon the library table in front of him, scribbling notes onto a piece of parchment that was balanced on his laps. 

Hermione sat opposite him, watching him curiously out of the corner of her eyes. She still hadn’t told Harry what she had found while she had been researching his ability to use Parseltongue, and she wasn’t sure if she ever would. Harry was researching the Chamber of Secrets now, as he had been for the past week, and she was helping him because the more Hermione knew about how little Harry knew, the more she trusted him again, the more she believed in him and not the worrying rumours that were circulating in the castle. 

She didn’t say anything when Harry scowled and shoved the diary away from him. It was happening more often lately, Harry seemed to be angry with the black book more often than not now and Hermione wondered what he was writing in it that would upset him so much. He used to smile while writing it in, she remembered. 

She leant forward curiously, keeping her eyes on Harry until satisfied that he wasn’t watching her, and then she peeked down at the open page. 

Harry’s words were gone, but Tom had left his reply upon the sheet. _You’ll have to pick a side eventually. There is no fair in love and war, not for anyone, but especially not for you_. It read as if Harry were writing someone a letter, or composing a tragic love story of some kind, but Hermione felt deep within her gut that it was neither of those things. She thought, as insane as it sounded, as if the words were not from Harry, but _addressed to him_ , as if someone were writing back to him. 

But that was ridiculous, she told herself. Then, she promptly turned away from the diary and began to read about Slytherin’s monster, all innuendos aside, it was apparently quite large. 

**XXX**


	30. Chapter 29

**Words:** 4,100  
 **Chapter 29**  
March 9th 1993. 

This school year seemed to be passing by much faster than the last had, and days were beginning to blur into one another as school work piled up and Tom continued to torment Harry about picking a ‘side’. There had been no more attacks, but Ginny Weasley had come close to molesting Harry at one point, throwing herself at him pathetically while crying, only to be pulled away by Harry’s _other_ stalker, Ronald Weasley. His mind was preoccupied by other things, more important things than school socialising; the choice between light and dark, and Tom’s bias nudges in the ‘right’ direction were almost overwhelming him. 

So it was no surprise that Harry had forgotten that there were still three more Quidditch matches left that year. Ravenclaw happened to be playing Hufflepuff that day, but Gryffindor were playing in both of the other matches, later in the year. This would be Harry’s last match of the season, and he was in no way prepared for it. 

He sat on one of the wooden benches in the changing room, hunched over with his head in his hands. 

“I’ve missed so many practises!” He whispered, peeking out between his fingers as Roger Davis walked passed.

“You’re brilliant. Don’t worry about it.” The Captain said, shrugging. “Just make sure you catch the Snitch, or, you know, we have no chance of winning the House Cup from Gryffindor.”

“No pressure then,” Harry muttered to himself as the older boy walked away. The rest of the team were already waiting, broom in hand, by the exit of the changing room. He was alone, sitting on a bench, when they filed out in silence. 

“POTTER!” One of his teammates shouted back at him. 

Harry stood, and grabbed his broom. He made his way onto the pitch, mounting his broom nervously eyes darting around the stadium as he tried to spot anyone he knew. He took off, floating lazily into the sky. Unconsciously, his hand moved to pat at the pocket of his Quidditch robe, where Tom’s diary was hidden away. Even angry at the Horcrux, Harry hadn’t wanted to leave him behind, in case someone else tried to steal it or read whatever Tom had replied to Harry’s last “fuck off, please” message. If he hadn’t known what Tom was, or what Tom was capable of, Harry might have been afraid of how dependant he had become on Tom’s presence or opinion. They only fought over Harry’s inability to pick a side, or to at least explain to Tom without Voldemort over-reading their conversation about wanting to wait and _see_ how Voldemort reacted to him in person. But Harry valued Tom’s advice in regards to every other subject under the sun, including the Chamber of Secrets. He still didn’t know where it was located, but he and Hermione (with hints from Tom) had managed to find out nearly everything else about it. 

Harry felt the breath leave him as a Bludger slammed straight into his thigh. A whimper left his mouth, even as he bit down on his lip, hands fisting around the broom in agony as he tried not to pass out. His leg was fractured, or broken, and the pain was indescribable. Black spots swam in and out of his vision, and Harry shook his head wildly to clear his sight, but that only served to make him dizzy. 

Gold spots came into view. Harry blinked slowly, frowning as the multiple dots shrank and came together to make one large golden sphere. Unable to believe his luck, Harry stretched out one arm, the other still clinging desperately to his broom, and he snatched the golden Snitch out of the air just as another Bludger came towards him. He twisted on his broom, swinging upside down to avoid a second hit, but unfortunately Harry also let go of his broom. 

He was falling. 

Flying, he realized, spreading out his arms like wings, as he slowly descended to the ground. Green eyes locked with a very specific red-gaze, a yew wand pointed at Harry to slow his fall, and Harry tried to offer Voldemort a smile before everything went black. 

When he came to, Lockhart was leaning over him, his wand running up and down the length of Harry’s thigh. 

“Nothing is broken, and,” he waved the wand again as he spoke softly, “now nothing is wrong with you at all.” 

“Thank you,” Harry whispered, nodding his head and reaching out for Lockhart’s offered hand. 

One of the Professor’s hands was around Harry’s wrists, and the other drifted lower to brush against the muddied pocket of Harry’s robe. “You need to be more careful,” Voldemort warned. 

Harry looked up at the elder Wizard, eyebrows furrowed, “yeah, I know, I should have been paying attention to the game. It was stupid.” 

“I’m not talking about Quidditch, Harry,” the Wizard said, voice low enough so that only Harry could hear what he was saying. “You need to be careful not to become too dependent. Tom won’t always be here, as I’m sure you’re aware.” 

Harry narrowed his eyes in thought. Of course Voldemort would use Tom to return to power, so Tom would have to ‘die’ or suffer the Horcrux equivalent to death in order to make way for his elder self. Harry pursed his lips as he came to that conclusion. He would miss Tom, but perhaps… He looked at Voldemort through curious eyes, trying to imagine the Dark Lord as Tom had appeared, happy and eager to be close to Harry. Maybe Voldemort would take on some of Tom’s characteristics, share some of the same pleasures; maybe Tom wouldn’t truly be dead? Harry snorted, pulling his arm away from the Dark Lord. Whether Tom stayed or went completely, Harry would still be that much closer to being forced to pick a side. 

“He is aware, as well, and as they say, Harry,” Lockhart’s eyes narrowed in something akin to worry, but there was also anger in that gaze as their eyes locked, “desperate men will do desperate things.”

“Isn’t it desperate times call for desperate measures?” Harry questioned, hand patting at the diary in his pocket. 

Voldemort’s lips curled back, teeth bared in a vicious grin as his eyes travelled over Harry’s form and landed on the land within the robe pocket. “From Tom’s point of view? Yes.” The Dark Lord turned his back on the boy, back straight and shoulders stiff and he made his way off of the Quidditch pitch. It was only after Professor Lockhart was out of sight, that the rest of the Ravenclaw team ran towards him. 

“Are you ok?” Davis asked, wringing his hands in front of his stomach. 

Cho grinned at him, pulling him into a quick hug. “You caught the Snitch!” 

“Lockhart was sooo worried about you, Potter. Teacher’s pet.” Someone nudged his shoulder playfully, grinning down at him. 

Harry nodded dutifully at them all, but his attention was on the diary within his pocket and on the man whose soul inhabited it. Voldemort had all but implied that Tom would hurt him… 

Harry brushed it off. Thinking about the diary during a Quidditch match had gotten him injured. There was a time and a place for everything, and now was not Tom’s time. He brushed his fingers over the worn black cover one more time, and withdrew his hand from his pocket. He smiled widely, arms circling the neck of the man who was tugging him forward, hugging him tightly. His fingers brushed against blond hair, and Harry leant happily into Lucius’ embrace. “I’ve missed you.”

“Never, ever do that again!” Lucius hissed, pulling back to look down at Harry’s sweaty face. Harry grinned, shrugging his shoulders lightly, unable to promise that he wouldn’t get hurt during a Quidditch game again, but at least it wouldn’t be until next year. “And I missed you also, lovely.” 

Evan Rosier appeared behind Lucius, raising an eyebrow over Lucius’ shoulder at his blushing son. “And did no one miss me, hmm?” He questioned with a small smirk on his Polyjuiced mouth. 

_XXX_

April 11th 1993. 

It was Easter Sunday, and the Muggleborns were celebrating in the Great Hall by tucking in to a rather fancy feast put together by the Hogwarts house elves. Half-bloods and Purebloods were sitting at their respective tables, eating the food and scowling at anyone who happened to have said a prayer before they began to eat. Draco was muttering loudly about how disgraceful it all was, pandering to their Mudblood beliefs. Theodore sat beside him, nodding his head at the right times, and spooning turkey and beef and potatoes into his mouth when he wasn’t required to agree out loud. Their usual Harry-shaped-buffer was absent from dinner, and Theo snorted as he imaged conversing with Draco Malfoy a year ago, before Harry had forced them to befriend each other. He would have stabbed the blond with his fork before the Headmaster had even finished giving his speech, the brunette thought. 

“What are you grinning about?” Draco asked, scowling. 

“Just wondering where Harry is.”

“Yeah,” Draco looked around the Hall, talking softly. “I haven’t really seen him outside of class in a while now. He’s always with the Mudblood or that stupid diary of his.”

“Jealous, Malfoy?” Theodore asked. He grinned widely, as Malfoy scoffed in response and turned his face away. “That was a yes,” he said on his friend’s behalf. 

Harry had considered going to dinner, but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to spend time alone with Tom. The closer they came to exams, the harder Hermione pushed him to study. He was spending more time with her than he had thought he would have, and Harry wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. He liked her, he supposed, but he didn’t trust her. He didn’t think he would ever trust her. She certainly didn’t trust him fully, if the half-glances and suspicious glares were any indication, and she definitely didn’t like that Harry continued to write in the diary even after it had slammed itself closed on her hand the week before. Harry had tried to pass it off as a rather strong breeze, but Hermione wasn’t buying it. Harry knew it was because Tom didn’t want to be touched by a Mudblood, but Hermione wasn’t sure what it had been, but she knew there was definitely something wrong with the diary. Harry had managed to escape researching in the library with her, because obviously she was researching him and his behaviour and his diary, and having him there to run interference would be counter-productive. 

_I need to speak to you, about my loyalties, about my decisions, and my dreams and my hopes. Does that make me sound like a girl?_ Harry grimaced as he wrote the words, wincing as he imagined what Dudley or Vernon would have said in the pre-Evan years about his ‘pansy whining’. 

Tom replied calmly, comfortingly, _no. That is natural, Harry. To want to confide in somebody you trust, somebody you care for. And I’m honoured that you chose me_.

Harry lifted his pen again, forgetting that Voldemort could read the words he was planning on writing, forgetting that he would no longer be able to claim neutrality or indecisiveness if his decision was on paper and clear and plain and _available_ to the Dark Lord himself. Before he could write anything though, Tom fortunately began to write instead. 

_Don’t write anything here. You know my other self will be able to read it, and he won’t be happy with whatever you are planning on saying. Especially since you are saying it to me. He doesn’t trust me, Harry, doesn’t want you near me. He watches you more and more,_ Tom paused, and the writing slowly began to disappear from view. _Sometimes I imagine I can feel him beside me while you are sleeping_. 

“He watches me sleep?” Harry said out loud, shuddering lightly at the thought. No, Harry thought, the Dark Lord had better things to do than watch him sleep. Tom must have been mistaken, or it might have been Lockhart’s house elf searching in the dark for the diary, or maybe- no, Tom wouldn’t lie to him. 

_How am I meant to talk to you then?_ Harry wrote, fingers clenched tightly around the quill. Ink dripped onto the page as Harry waited for a response, holding his breath in anticipation. 

_We’ll have to hurry. I don’t know if my other self is watching, waiting for this moment. He won’t let us meet, Harry. He’ll pull you away from me if he knows what we are planning, or block us if he is speedy enough. So hurry! Hurry! Fall into me_.

“What?” Harry whispered. The last time he had been inside of the diary had been as a result of a potion. But he didn’t have more of that potion on hand. Before he could question what Tom meant, the diary began to glow. A bright light rose up from the seam of the book, from the spine, where the pages met and were bound together. Light hid the seam and the string and the glue. The pages disappeared from view, the writing faded out of sight, hidden beneath the glare of white that blinded Harry momentarily. 

He felt himself falling, like he was falling from the sky or into a Pensieve. He flailed, arms flinging in all directions as he tried to hold onto something, ground himself somehow. And then, suddenly, there was pain. All consuming pain welled up within him, beginning with the scar in his forehead and spreading throughout his body until it reached the very core of his being, and then it _constricted_. Harry felt the tightening in his chest, gasped and crying out, arms wrapping around his torso in a feeble attempt to protect himself. He was still falling, but now he was falling backwards, away from the diary. He hit the floor with a groan, curling up on himself, knees against his chest. His eyes fluttered, then stayed closed, and the pain in his scar faded completely but Harry had already lost consciousness. 

The diary remained on the desk, Tom’s angry sentence unread, until Theodore Nott came back from lunch. The brunette fell to his knees beside his friend and foster-brother. “Harry?” He whispered, shaking the boy’s shoulder, but Harry didn’t stir. He looked around, wide-eyed, but there was no one else in the Slytherin Common Room. Everyone else was at lunch, and Theo didn’t know if Harry actually had any friends in Ravenclaw and he certainly didn’t know the password so he couldn’t even return Harry to his bed. With a deep breath, Theo rose to his feet. He was about to go find a teacher, or a prefect, someone who would be able to help Harry, but then he caught sight of the diary. 

In blood red ink, which was actually the blood of the youngest Weasley, Tom had angrily scrawled one word across the double pages of the diary. Theo traced the word, flinching as he read it, and then he looked worriedly down at his friend. It wouldn’t do for anyone to read it, for anyone to even know Harry had written “ **VOLDEMORT!!!!!** ” in giant red letters in his secret diary, because then what else might have Harry been writing that he shouldn’t be? 

Because he was a good friend, and because Harry’s father was decent enough to take him in after his own was sent to Azkaban, Theo closed the diary and tucked it into his own pocket. He’d give it back in the morning, after he knew what was wrong with his friend. But until then, he carefully dragged Harry to a sofa and lay him down gently, before leaving the common room. 

Lockhart followed him back inside five minutes later. He dismissed Theodore, and he knew better than to try and summon a Horcrux (as he had made them all immune to any form of conjuring magic), and he folded his arms across his chest. Voldemort looked down on the boy that Evan Rosier had offered up as an heir. The boy was pale, but otherwise looked to be sleeping peacefully. Perhaps it hadn’t been necessary to hurt him as much as he had, but at least this way Harry would be deterred from trying to enter the diary again. 

Tom was becoming far too fascinated with the Boy-Who-Lived, and the boy who may have to be killed eventually, and Voldemort didn’t like that. It wouldn’t do to have them in close contact with one another. And when Harry awoke, Voldemort promised himself, as he took a seat on a chair opposite the boy and set about waiting impatiently, Harry would be forced to hand over the diary. 

Whether he liked it or not. 

_XXX_

May 8th 1993. 

There had been another attack. Two girls had apparently been petrified, and Harry had nodded as he was told and then turned to walk away, uninterested. And then he had heard their names. 

Penelope Clearwater. 

And Hermione Granger. 

Harry had frozen in place, feeling as if someone had cast a ‘ _Stupefy_ ’ on him. Something clenched painfully within his chest, but he swallowed away his discomfort and his worry, and turned to face the person who had been speaking to him originally, the person he had so easily dismissed moment ago. 

“Weasley, repeat that now!” He ordered. 

Ron looked momentarily wary, but then a pleased grin crossed his face at the thought of Harry Potter willing engaging in a conversation with him. “Granger and Clearwater were found in a corridor out by the library. Both of them were petrified, and Granger was carrying a mirror. Well at least that’s what the Professors are telling us anyway, but I heard from Michael Corner who heard from someone else who heard from the guy who found them that Clearwater was dead!” 

Harry didn’t wait to hear anymore. He turned on his heel, heading back in the direction that he had been leaving, and made his way silently to the Infirmary. 

Seated beside Hermione’s bed, he swallowed nervously and reached out to clasp her hand lightly. “I’m sorry that you got dragged into this.” 

He let her go, looking around for Penelope but not finding her. A few beds were filled, Creevey was in one, petrified, and Nearly Headless Nick was hovering over another. A few Gryffindors were hovering around another bed at the very back of the room, but Harry knew that that injury was Quidditch related. No one seemed to be paying Hermione very much attention, not even Madame Pomfrey who was hovering around another bed drawing the curtains sadly. Harry wondered, briefly, if Clearwater had died, then thought better of it. Surely Flitwick would have informed _their_ House at least. And Dumbledore surely would have called the girl’s parents into the school! 

He took another quick look around, but no one was looking at him, and so he felt safe enough to pull the diary from his pocket. 

_I will find a way for us to meet!_ Tom had written, and Harry imagined him sitting cross-legged in the Chamber with a smug look on his face as he plotted and felled students with Slytherin’s Basilisk. 

Harry pulled a quill from his pocket and the vial of ink, and dipped the tip into it. He wrote carefully, cautiously, glancing up after every word to see if anyone was looking. _Was it really necessary to attack one of my friends?_

Voldemort had been trying hard to get the diary from him, and so far Harry had managed to avoid handing it over by pawning if off on his friends when Lockhart wanted to talk to him or when they had detention together, or by avoiding the Professor completely when he could. But Harry didn’t put it passed Voldemort to have convinced some of the students to watch out for the diary and take it from him. The house elf was still trying to take it from him, maybe on Voldemort’s behalf? Ginny had taken it from him after all, and who was to say that Voldemort wasn’t behind that? Maybe he had planned it all? Merely pretending to search frantically for the diary, all the while knowing who had it, who was making Tom stronger, and then suggesting Evan use the potion on Harry so that he wouldn’t have to come clean about his plot and the diary’s whereabouts. 

But Voldemort didn’t lie to his friends, Harry thought, remembering what Tom had told him. Evan had said the same thing on occasion. But was Harry really Voldemort’s friend? He hadn’t taken a side yet, and until he did there was nothing stopping Voldemort from considering him to be the enemy. 

A chair scrapped against the ground and Harry looked up warily. One of the Gryffindors were leaving the room, followed seconds later by another. Harry watched the door close behind them, but the remaining Lions still didn’t look over at him. 

_I didn’t realise you considered the Mudblood a friend, or I would have changed my plans_. Tom replied, and Harry thought he might have been annoyed because there were several angry looking ink blotches on the page, and usually Harry was the only one who wrote messily. 

Harry didn’t know whether Hermione was a real friend or not, but he needed to keep his options open. If he didn’t pick the Dark Lord, then having a Mudblood friend would be good for his image, would make the Light more trusting of him, more sympathetic. But it seemed to already be alienating his friends. Draco wouldn’t talk to him while Hermione was around, and Tom sounded angry at the mention of her name, but Evan tolerated her in small doses, while he was a butterfly and not a human, but that was good enough for Harry at the moment. He was admittedly rather fond of her, but he didn’t think he could ever trust her, not with every part of himself, like he could with Evan and Draco and Lucius. Lucius would undoubtedly hate her, Harry thought with a smile. 

He didn’t respond to Tom’s reply, too preoccupied in overthinking his relationship to Hermione, and her relationships with his friends. Tom didn’t write again either, otherwise occupied himself although Harry wouldn’t know that until later. 

_XXX_

May 9th 1993. 

Harry waited in the infirmary, and eventually fell asleep in the chair beside Hermione’s bed. He woke late the next morning, having been overlooked by Pomfrey who thought he was pale looking and could do with the sleep. By the time he was awake and ready to start the day Harry had already missed his first two classes. Madame Pomfrey had given him a note, and with it scrunched up in his hand, Harry ran the whole way to potions. 

Draco wasn’t in the class. 

And he was so busy during lunch trying to catch up with the two classes he had missed, that he failed to notice that Draco hadn’t been around all day. In fact, Draco hadn’t gone back to the Slytherin dorms the night before either, and no one had seen him since Ginny Weasley had stopped him outside of Myrtle’s bathroom and he had waved Pansy on. 

That night, Theodore appeared at the entrance to Ravenclaw Tower. A prefect answered, and then went to find Harry, who always slept in his dorm as apparently there were school rules that insisted he did so. 

“Draco still hasn’t come back to the dorm, Harry,” Theo said before Harry could ask what he wanted. “And he isn’t in the Hospital wing, and he isn’t on the Quidditch pitch because tonight is the Slytherin practise and he didn’t turn up. I haven’t seen him all day, and neither had Professor Snape.”

Harry whirled around, racing back through the common room and into his dormitory. The diary was tucked under his pillow, and Harry grabbed at it, frantically flicking through the pages as his curious dorm-mates watched. 

“VOLDEMORT!!!!” was still bold and bright on the centre pages, continuously goading the Dark Lord who could read it still as Tom had yet to let it fade. Beneath it though, in smaller, neater writing, were words that made Harry’s heart jump into his chest. What had Tom been thinking?

 _She helped us again, Harry. She brought him to us. Malfoy is in the Chamber with me now. Come and get him, and then we’ll talk_. 

**XXX**

Thank you for reading. I am relatively certain that there is only one chapter left of Year 2. And I would love to hear what you think I’m planning to do! Feed me reviews… or make me tea? Your choice :P


	31. Chapter 30

**Words:** 4,078  
 **Chapter 30**  
May 10th 1993.

Harry hadn’t been able to find the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. He had searched through all of Hermione’s notes, he had skipped classes so that he could re-read the books that he and Hermione had been using throughout the year to research the Chamber, and he had even asked the professors. But nothing and no one seemed to know where the Chamber was. Except Voldemort, but Harry wasn’t sure if it was safe to ask him. There was Tom, but Tom was refusing to speak to him completely once he realized that Harry was angry at him. Of course he was angry! Tom had kidnapped his best friend, his future son-in-law; the boy was practically his brother, and now he was lying in the dirty, dank Chamber and Harry didn’t know if there was any way to get him back. 

_If you wanted to talk, you should have just told me where the entrance is!_ Harry wrote angrily. He flipped the diary shut, knowing that Tom was too busy sulking to respond, and threw it away from him. Horcrux or otherwise, he didn’t care what happened to the diary now. He had other things to worry about, more pressing things to concern himself with. 

Lucius and Narcissa had been summoned to the school. Draco had been missing for nearly two days after all, and it wasn’t like Harry could tell the professors, “oh don’t worry about Draco, he’s safe. He’s just chilling in Slytherin’s Chamber with the heir himself. He’s having a right laugh.” He couldn’t show them the diary, because it would probably get him arrested, and he didn’t have any other proof. But he could tell Lucius, only… that would have the effect of making the blond wary of his Lord, and Harry didn’t want that. It wasn’t like Tom’s obsession was Voldemort’s fault. Voldemort had tried to warn him after that Quidditch match, after all! This was Harry’s fault, and as cowardly as it was, Harry didn’t want Lucius to know that and hate him for it. So, until they found Draco, his parents would be at Hogwarts, and Harry would have to avoid them completely while trying to find the Chamber of Secrets. 

Piece of cake, he thought, running his hand tiredly down his face. 

“You is to be giving back the diary!” A voice squeaked from behind a bookshelf. 

Harry looked around the abandoned library. It was dark, and there was no one there, not even Madam Pince. He tugged the cloak down from his shoulders, revealing himself completely and he narrowed his eyes. 

“Flut?” He asked softly, and sure enough the vengeful house elf slunk out of the shadows. “Do you know where your master is?” The elf nodded. “Is he in the Chamber?” Harry bit his lip, knowing it was a stretch to assume that the house elf was working to get Tom back rather than to keep him in the diary. It should have been the same agenda that Voldemort had, but lately whenever Harry saw the man he seemed to imply, at least, that Tom would be better off away from them, in the diary, concealed and trapped safely away. 

When the house elf nodded again, Harry’s breath caught in his throat. Of course, the elf wanted to take the diary back from Harry, to give it to someone Voldemort did not favour so that Tom could feed off of them and escape his prison. Despite the fact that Voldemort had allowed him to take the diary, suggested it even, which sort of worried Harry, the elf believed that he had stolen from the Dark Lord. He had several times attempted to punish Harry for that. But Harry pushed that from his mind, that didn’t matter anymore, it wouldn’t matter, not if Flut would do what he wanted now. 

“Will you take me to him?” Harry asked. He leant down off his chair, fingers scrabbling at the edges of the book, until he had a firm grip on it. Diary in hand, he sat up straight and looked back at the house elf. “Will you take _us_ to him?” 

_XXX_

The Chamber was worse than Harry remembered it being. But, he supposed, Tom’s memories of it had been fifty years old, and things tended to corrode over time. 

The house elf had left him in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, with a quick nod to the sinks that didn’t work, but had easily slid out of Harry’s way once he spoke Parseltongue. Myrtle herself had watched him with wide eyes, half hidden behind a cubicle door, glasses sliding down her transparent nose. 

“She brought him here, the red haired girl.” Myrtle told him, sounding scared. “Are you going to get him back?” 

Harry hadn’t answered. He had thrown himself into the pipe, arms crossed over his chest to keep them from flailing, and his legs straight but not stiff. It wouldn’t do to break them when he landed, and so he tried to keep himself relaxed. He landed hard, feet hitting the ground and he stumbled forward, landing awkwardly on his face in a pile of bones. Harry had twisted away from them; cringing at the rattling noises they made, like wind-chimes from Hell, and pulled himself to his feet. 

And then he started walking. 

He eyed the water stains, and the puddles and the holes in the walls. He jumped over exposed pipes and tried to avoid the Basilisk skin and the remains of the monster’s dinners. 

“Tom?” He called, as he entered the only part of the Chamber that he had visited before. “Are you here? Tom? To- Draco!” 

The blonde was lying on the ground, his arm brushing water and his hair spread around him like a halo. Harry knelt by his side, shaking his friend lightly. 

“He isn’t hurt. I’ve only _Petrified_ him, I promise. I just wanted to see you. You wouldn’t have come to me if I had used anyone else.” Harry turned around, still on his knees, and looked up at Tom Riddle who was standing behind him. Pale hands settled on Harry’s shoulders, massaging gently. “I can _Imperio_ him if you like, and send him back to the school?”

“Will he be safe?” Harry questioned voice soft, eyes wary. 

“The Basilisk is sleeping and there is nothing else here that is dangerous, except the water,” Tom said with a chuckle. “He won’t need to speak to leave, just to enter.”

“How did Ginny get the pipe to open?” Harry questioned, even as he nodded his consent. 

“ _Imperio! Eneverate!_ ” Tom said, pointing Draco’s own wand at the blonde. He passed the wand to the dazed boy, pulling him to his feet. “Leave now, the way you came, and report to a Professor. You won’t remember anything. You don’t know where you’ve been. You don’t remember, do you understand?”

“Yes,” Draco intoned. He sounded empty, soulless, and Harry shuddered at the sound, hoping that when the spell was lifted Draco would sound as he normally did, act like he normally did, petulance and all. 

“I taught her ‘open’ and ‘close’. It’s actually very easy to imitate the sounds if you hear them often enough.” They watched Draco go, standing side by side, both tense and nervous. “I’m glad you came,” Tom said at length, once they were alone. 

“You knew I would have, Tom. I had to.” Tom looked away from him and Harry sighed. “Why did you take Draco? Why didn’t you just tell me where the Chamber was?”

“Would you have come? Even with my other self warning you away from me, watching you, controlling you?” Tom reached for him, face twisted and fingers digging into Harry’s shoulders again. But he didn’t look angry, just sad. 

“I would have tried. You’re my friend and I wanted to talk to you, Tom, but now Draco’s parents are here and they’re _terrified_ and Voldemort is angry, and Dumbledore probably is too, and what am I supposed to say to them, Tom? Am I supposed to lie to Draco’s parents, or tell them the truth? And Dumbledore? What do I say to him without getting myself arrested?”

“Voldemort won’t let that happen, you know. He actually likes you. It’s the reason he doesn’t want us to be in contact. He wants to keep you for himself, his minion, his slave, his Harry, even though he hasn’t admitted it yet. Even though he pretends to himself that you are still enemies.”

“And you? What am I to you?” His heart was beating hard in his chest, and there was butterflies eating up his insides, and Harry half wished he had never come here. 

“My friend. But I want so much more, Harry. I want you, all of you. It scares me and it makes me angry, I don’t know how I’m supposed to act around you, but I get jealous when I think that you came here for Malfoy and not for me and-” 

“I would have come here for you, if you had asked! But you didn’t!” Harry shouted. Tom didn’t respond verbally. Instead, he stared at Harry, blue and green eyes clashing, and then he lunged forward, mouths crushing against mouths and teeth clanking together and there was blood as Tom bit down too hard on Harry’s lip. 

Harry shoved hard, and Tom found himself sprawled at the other boy’s feet. Blue eyes looked up, face scrunched in anger and mouth curling down, but Harry knew Tom was more hurt than angry. “What?” He spat, “not good enough for you? Would you prefer _Voldemort_?” 

Harry choked on his response, face flushing red in annoyance and embarrassment. “No!” He shouted, fingers curling at his sides. “It has nothing to do with him!”

“But you still don’t want me?” The words made Harry flinch, and he looked at Tom. Tom was staring back at him, wide eyed and sad, already knowing the answer. “We’ve been together for a year, and you-” He trailed off, looking away from Harry. 

“I’m with someone. He’s a lot older than me, but he’s willing to wait for me, and my dad likes him. I think Voldemort even likes him, though Voldemort doesn’t really like anyone, so maybe not. Actually, I don’t think Voldemort even really knows, I doubt anyone thought it was important enough to tell him, and I haven’t really spoken to you about it, cause well, Lucius could get into trouble, and I don’t want that. Wow, take a breath, Harry,” he said, chuckling. 

Tom looked back up at him. “You met him before me?”

“A long time ago, yeah.” Tom gritted his teeth, nodding his head fractionally. “He makes me happy, and I think he loves me.” 

“Good.” Tom cleared his throat, and that was the end of the conversation. He didn’t want to talk about his feelings, or Harry’s rejection, any longer. He wasn’t one to dwell on feelings anyway, especially those which were unrequited. “Whose side are you on, then? You can tell me!” He gave Harry a grin, like a shark, all teeth and tongue, and Harry smiled back. He wasn’t afraid of Tom, and he was glad that the kiss hadn’t changed anything between them, because he really needed his friend right now. 

“I don’t know. I want to be on Voldemort’s side, but what if he doesn’t want me? Or if he changes his mind, and decides I’m not worth it, and I’ve burnt all of my bridges? What do I do then, Tom, if you aren’t with me to give me advice?” 

_XXX_

Voldemort watched Draco stumble out of the girls’ bathroom. He had known as soon as he had stopped Harry from falling into the diary that Tom would find another way for them to meet. The entrance to the Chamber hadn’t changed in the last fifty years, which was nice to know, because the architecture of the school had changed several times over since Slytherin was alive, and it had taken Tom years to trace the original entrance to the girls’ bathroom back when he was at school. It would have taken too long to do so again, and time was of the essence where his past self was concerned. 

Tom wanted Harry. 

Not in the sense that Voldemort did, where he wanted to own and possess and claim. He wanted to study Harry, study the Horcrux and the effects it had on the boy, to own all of that power and to know _he_ was the one Harry answered to. But Tom just wanted him. The thought that Voldemort had once possessed the capacity to feel almost scared the Dark Lord. What if those feelings were still there, buried deep inside, beneath all of the apathy and dark magic and the hate? He had never taken a lover. He had had sex, sure, just to see what it was like, but he had never felt anything except during orgasm, but that, he had read, was natural. The orgasm part, not the apathy. He didn’t have friends, except Evan, who didn’t seem to want to take the hint, but a part of his soul felt both things for Harry Potter. Was he capable of feeling them too, he wondered? Because if he was, Harry would be a weakness, a danger to him, and that combined with the prophecy made it unsafe for him to keep Harry alive. 

But… to have the Boy-Who-Lived loyal to him, to keep his Horcrux safe, to make his takeover of the Wizarding world that much easier with Harry by his side? Did the pros outweigh the cons, or was it the other way around? 

Voldemort didn’t have any more time to think upon it, because Draco walked straight into him, as if he hadn’t noticed Professor Lockhart standing in the middle of the corridor. 

“I’m safe,” the blonde whispered. “I don’t remember where I was. I don’t remember anything.” He walked away, stiff and jerkily, without waiting for a response, and Voldemort let him go, knowing the spell he was under and that he could cancel it himself when it was time. 

He entered the bathroom. Myrtle had hidden herself when the Chamber had opened again, and she stayed hiding as Voldemort levitated himself down the pipe and went in search of Harry Potter. 

_XXX_

“He wants you, and he needs me. I know he has plenty of other Horcruxes, my original goal was to split my soul seven times, so if you were an unintentional Horcrux then there must be five more out there not including myself and Voldemort. Voldemort is bodiless. He won’t use you, and I won’t let him use me. That way, if you really need me, I can be there for you.”

They had spoken for a while, Harry reaching out after a moment to take hold of Tom’s hand and the elder boy hadn’t pulled away. He listened silently to Harry’s fears and desires, and then he had given his opinion, calm and decisive while Harry looked up at him trustingly. Mid-way through the conversation, neither of them noticed Voldemort appear. 

“What do you mean?” Harry frowned as Tom pulled their hands apart. They looked at each other, Harry confused and Tom smiling sadly. 

“Give me the diary, Harry?” The brunette handed it over unhesitantly, pulling it from his robe pocket and dropping it into the pale outstretched hand. “I’ll just refuse to speak to anyone but you, and I’ll keep that girls blood for when I really need it, and you know I wouldn’t harm you. If you need me, Harry, you’ll know where I am. Though,” he paused and chuckled bitterly, “I doubt Voldemort will let me near you now. He wants you all to himself.”

Harry scoffed lightly, convinced that Tom was exaggerating at least a little, but he didn’t get a chance to say as such again. The diary had begun to glow, pale white at first, and then brighter and brighter and Harry was forced to shield his eyes. From where he stood, Voldemort did the same, covering his eyes with one hand and turning his face away. When they both looked back to where Tom had been standing there was no one there. The diary lay closed upon the floor, half on the cement and half in the puddle, and Harry bent down to pick it up, shaking the water off of its cover. The pages were dry, as they always were, and all of Tom’s messages, the ones that he had refused to delete, had finally vanished. 

_I’ll miss you, Harry_ , Tom wrote, as Harry stroked each letter softly as it appeared. 

“Miss you too.” Harry whispered. He closed the diary, and just as he was about to slip it into his pocket, a hand grabbed his wrist. Harry gasped, jumping almost a foot in the air with fright and he whirled around to gape at Lord Voldemort. 

Lockhart looked back at him, red eyes flashing. “I’ll take that,” he hissed, pulling the diary from Harry’s loose grip. He tucked it away inside of his robe, patting the pocket down, and then turned to look back at Harry. His eyes skimmed over Harry’s form, taking in the dirt and dust smeared across his clothes and face, but he was unharmed and that was all that mattered. “You should get back to the school.” 

He refused to think on what Tom had said. Yes, he wanted Harry, but certainly not in the way that Tom had been implying! 

He let Harry go, watching as the boy took off running towards the chamber door, glancing once over his shoulder and then darting out of sight. He waited a moment, considering talking to Tom, questioning him, or threatening him, and then decided against it. Lord Voldemort wasn’t easily intimidated, and definitely not by himself anyway. As long as the diary was kept away from Harry, the boy would be safe, and Evan would have no reason to panic, and Voldemort would have the time to think about whether or not he should take Harry as his heir without worry about parts of his soul seducing _his_ … his what? His heir, his pupil, his follower’s son? Because he had plenty of that last category and he didn’t care two figs about any of those children. Why was Harry different? He considered again asking Tom, then decided his sanity couldn’t take it. 

Instead he left the Chamber, diary tucked away inside of his pocket, and then later within Lockhart’s trunk, which was hurriedly packed. Defence Against the Dark Arts professors hadn’t last more than a year at a time since Voldemort had been refused the position; now wasn’t the time to change that habit. He made a fire call to Lucius Malfoy, asking him to pass a message to Evan who wasn’t reachable by floo, and then he stepped into the green flames with his belongings and was gone. 

_XXX_

May 30trh 1993.

It had been over two weeks and no one could find Gilderoy Lockhart. Lucius, who had been staying in one of the guest rooms at the time of the man’s disappearance, swore he had seen Lockhart heading into the girls’ bathroom, and so the rumours had sprung from that, and somehow it was now common knowledge that _Lockhart_ , of all people, was the Heir Of Slytherin, and once he had realized that Harry Potter was about to capture him he had fled the castle. Harry wasn’t sure how his name had been dragged into it all, but apparently someone had seen him leave the same bathroom a little while after Lockhart was meant to have entered it. 

“Well done, mate,” Someone praised him, slapping him on the back a little harder than necessary. Draco glared on Harry’s behalf, and on his other side, Theo shot them a nasty look. 

“And this too shall fade,” Theo said, grimly.

“This too shall pass, you mean?”1 Harry corrected. He and Evan hadn’t had much opportunity for ‘quote wars’ lately, but he could still hold his own in the ‘knowing completely pointless sentences said by dead people ages ago’ game. 

“Yeah whatever,” Draco grumbled, “he means they’ll leave you alone eventually. Shouldn’t you be running along to the Infirmary? Granger is being un-petrified as we speak, and Merlin knows what you’ll do if you miss it! Perhaps you’ll cry?” Draco sneered in his direction, still rather annoyed that Harry had gone to visit Hermione in the hospital wing in the first place, because if he hadn’t then they would have been together and Ginny wouldn’t have been able to kidnap him. “I still haven’t forgiven you, by the way,” he added, eyes narrowed. 

“Yeah, you’ve said like a hundred times, Draco.” Harry grinned suddenly, reaching out to squeeze Draco’s arm. “I’m not going to the hospital wing. I’m where I want to be, where I need to be.” He reached out to grab Theo’s arm as well, and all three walked down the corridor arm in arm. “I’m with family.”

 _XXX_

June 19th 1993. 

The Hogwarts Express squealed to a stop, rivers of smoke trailing behind the glossy red steam-engine. It sat on the tracks, chugging lightly. Harry looked around at his friends, a grin on his face. Voldemort hadn’t been seen since he had taken the diary, and Lucius and Narcissa had left the school soon after, but Evan was gone, presumably following his Lord. But Harry didn’t let it disappoint him. He had a new brother this summer, and Theodore was just as excited about moving into his own home. 

The Malfoys raised their hands in greeting as the three boys stepped off of the train. Two of them were teenagers now, Harry being the youngest, and he was probably the only one who wished Evan was there to give him a welcome back hug. Lucius patted each of them on the shoulder once; his hand lingering on Harry’s slightly longer than the rest. Narcissa smiled coolly, eyes darting around the platform, and narrowing on a group of redheads who were staring in their direction. Ginny Weasley, in particular, was glaring daggers. Hermione stood beside her, tears in her eyes, and Harry continued to ignore as he had done since she had woken up in the hospital wing alone. 

“Come on, boys,” Lucius said, tone quiet and reserved. “It is time to go home.” 

Harry looked up with wide eyes, unable to hide his excitement. He had assumed that Lucius would be dropping Theo and himself to Number 4, but apparently they were all going back to Malfoy Manor until Evan returned. He would be spending days, maybe weeks, with Lucius, without his father around. And he was almost a teenager, just over a month to go, until statistically speaking he was supposed to sexually mature. 

Was he a bad son for hoping that Evan stayed gone until August? 

Lucius seemed to know what he was thinking, because the man chuckled lowly, lustfully. He looked down at Harry, stepping into the floo first and pulling the child into his arms. “Patience is a virtue,” he told the brunette. Harry blushed, bright and red, and managed to grin up at his elder… whatever Lucius was to him. “Malfoy Manor,” the blond called out, dropping the floo power into the fireplace. 

They disappeared in a swirl of green, leaving the platform behind them. Second year was over. Tom was gone, and the Chamber was closed, and Harry was determined to move on from it all, without Hermione or Voldemort shadowing him. And until his third year was due to start, Harry didn’t want to think about anything school related. 

He fell out of the fireplace, into the Malfoy’s atrium and into Lucius’ arms. 

This summer, he was determined to have a good time. There would be no worrying about essays or exams or catching the Snitch to beat Gryffindor. No Horcruxes or Basilisks or stalker redheaded creeps, of either gender. Just normal teenage fun. 

Teenage fun, Harry thought, looking up at Lucius. The man held him tightly, bending down slightly and Harry raised his head in invitation. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered. Lucius’ lips met his own in the next second, sliding lightly and chastely against one another’s, and it was nothing like the forceful passionate kiss that he had shared with Tom. 

This one was much better. 

“I’ve missed you too, lovely.” 

**XXX**

1 – “This, too, shall pass,” Abraham Lincoln. Originated in the bible in a story about King Solomon. 

 

I have a new HP/Avengers crossover fiction. It was meant to be a oneshot, but then I split it up, and now it's running away with itself in length, so there will probably be around 5-6 parts. It's on part 2 now :) If you're interested.


	32. Chapter 31

**Words:** 4,511  
 **Chapter 31**  
June 22nd 1993. 

It was Dudley’s birthday. With Evan scouring the world for a way to resurrect Lord Voldemort, he obviously wouldn’t be at Privet Drive, so maybe this year Dudley would have a real birthday, like the ones he used to have before Harry turned eight? 

Harry closed his eyes, lying back into Draco’s lap, and thought about it. They were both spread out on the same sofa, Draco sitting and reading a book, and Harry lying across him, just thinking. Evan had been gone since the middle of May, and originally Harry had wished that Evan would stay away long enough for Harry to hit his teenage years, so that maybe Lucius would be willing to move their relationship further, but so far the man had acted as the perfect gentleman with him. There were kisses, and the occasional time when Lucius would slide his hands lower and cup Harry’s rear, but aside from that there was nothing happening between them. As much as Harry would have loved for something to happen, he was starting to believe he would much rather have his father home for his thirteenth birthday. 

“You ok?” Theodore Nott asked. The elder boy was watching him with a curious look on his face, his dark hair hanging over his eyes messily. Theo flicked it away, then picked up his Potions essay when Harry didn’t answer him. 

Harry let him reread over his essay for a moment, thinking that perhaps he should make a start on his summer homework too. “I miss dad,” Harry said at last. 

“I was really looking forward to getting to know him. It’s such a shame,” Theo said softly, offering Harry a smile.

Draco scowled at them both, lowering his book so that they could both see his dark glare fully. “You’re both pathetic. Harry you should be honoured! Your _father_ will be the one to help the Dark Lord return! And Theo, you shouldn’t call it a ‘shame’. You should know better, you’ve always known you were going to be a Death Eater and you should take more pride in it!”

“Draco,” Harry tried to say, but Draco just smacked him lightly across the head. 

“You know I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just saying, it’ll be a shame that he’ll miss Harry’s birthday, is all. And I’ll have Yule to get to know Evan anyway! I’m not saying anything against the Dark Lord, Draco, so don’t get like that. Honestly, you’re acting like I’ve sullied his honour or something.” Both Harry and Theo chuckled lightly, but Draco continued to scowl. 

“Ah come on, Dray. We don’t mean anything by it!” Harry said, pushing himself into a sitting position. “You’d miss Lucius if he had gone.” 

Lucius watched them from the doorway, listening to them in silence. While he was proud of the loyalty his son was showing his Lord, even after having been told that by association Voldemort had been the one to take him into the Chamber of Secrets, he was also a little disappointed for Harry. He, himself, hated missing Draco’s birthdays. He knew Harry was missing Evan, and doubtlessly wherever he was with Voldemort, Evan was missing Harry too. But Lucius took a deep breath, entering the room, and promised to make Harry’s birthday this year the best one yet.

“Enough of that now, boys.” Lucius told them, stopping beside the sofa and his son. “How are you getting on with your homework?” Draco and Theo immediately started telling Lucius about what they hadn’t done yet and needed help with, or what they had finished. Harry bit his bottom lip bashfully, and when Lucius met his eyes he just shrugged, because he hadn’t done any of his yet. But it didn’t matter, he told himself, he had a two whole months left and he had promised himself leaving Platform nine and three-quarters that this summer he wasn’t going to worry about anything. 

_XXX_

July 31st 1993. 

Number 4, Privet Drive was a much happier place without the oppressive presence of Vernon Dursley. Petunia wasn’t sure how it had happened, but overnight her loving husband had turned into a monster. She could hazard a guess that it was the fault of her freak nephew, and since he wasn’t home either, she made no attempt to hide her dislike of him, his parents, or hers for that matter. 

“Why are you here?” She asked her two guests rudely. 

Mr and Mrs Evans stood awkwardly on the front porch, shifting from side to side while watching their daughter with concerned eyes. “Aren’t you happy to see us, dear?” Petunia’s mother asked. Maura Evans looked like Lily had, red hair and green eyes, though a darker shade than their daughter’s and grandson’s. She was pale but beautiful, and by her side Anthony Evans stood proud and tall as he looked over at his aging wife. 

“Well, since I moved houses, didn’t tell you my new address or phone number, never sent Christmas cards, never spoke to you,” Petunia said, before pausing to take a deep breath. “Why are you here? Lily isn’t here, so there’s no reason for you to come here.”

“What?” Anthony asked. “We can’t come visit our other daughter? Especially since it took us so long to track you down!”

“How did you manage that?” Petunia asked glumly. No doubt the freaks had something to do with this. 

“An owl turned up at our house a few days ago. We had thought, for all these years, that our daughter and grandson had been killed together,” Maura gave a soft laugh, “but he’s alive! They said this was his address.”

“They?” 

“There were quite a few names on the bottom of the letter.” Anthony pulled it from his pocket and handed it to Petunia to read over. There was only one name; all of the others were titles, and there was only one man Petunia knew of with as many titles as this man had. 

“Dumbledore!” She hissed, eyes narrowing. How dare he interfere in her life? Wasn’t it bad enough that he had dumped that _child_ on her family in the first place?

“Yes,” Maura agreed, “he seems to think Harry would benefit from knowing his grandparents. Apparently he’s fallen in with the wrong crowd at Hogwarts-” Before she could finish speaking, Petunia yanked her forward, into the house. 

“Sssh!” She hissed, “Don’t let the neighbours hear you!” Petunia closed the door behind herself, leading her parents into her home and pointing at the sofa. “I’ll make some tea, shall I?” 

While she was in the kitchen, Anthony made his way around the house, glancing at the photos that decorated the walls. There were still a couple of Dudley as a young child, but none of him over the age of eight. The majority were of Vernon and a pubescent Harry, grinning at one another, but there was one of Harry and a blond boy, both only looking around eleven years old holding up matching letters. 

“Hogwarts letter,” Anthony whispered to his wife. She was standing at the other side of the room, her fingers tracing a picture of a fat eight-year-old.

“My son, Dudley,” Petunia told her mother. Maura frowned at the photo again, then jumped, her hand pressed to her chest as someone came running down the stairs. 

Dudley wasn’t as big as he had been, because Evan had put him on a diet, but since Evan was gone he had reverted to his usual way of eating as much as he liked when he liked. He was carrying several empty sweet wrappers, and he stomped passed his mother without speaking to dumped them in the rubbish bin. 

“I’m hungry. When’s dinner, mum?” Two months, Evan had only been gone two months, and Petunia was surprised at how quickly Dudley forgot to be afraid of his father. “Who are they?”

“These are your grandparents. Maura and Anthony Evans, this is my son Dudley Dursley.” She hadn’t wanted anything to do with her own family once she had gotten married. She didn’t even tell Vernon she had family until she was pregnant and had learnt Lily was having a child too. It had been nerve wrecking admitting that someone in her family was a freak, but the knowledge that her parents had accepted Lily regardless made Vernon agree with his wife’s decision: they didn’t want people like that around their Dudders. But now Dumbledore had stuck his ore in, and here her parents were. 

And they wanted to see Harry. Not Dudley. 

Petunia scowled as they turned away from her child, and asked after Lily’s. “He is spending the holidays at his friend’s home.” She pointed to the blonde boy in the photo with the Hogwarts letter. “He doesn’t have a telephone.”

“Surely you can write to him? That owl followed us here, you know. We can use it!” Anthony suggested, and then startled as his daughter threw him an ugly glance. 

“Fine,” she hissed. Petunia stormed into the kitchen, muttering under her breath the whole way, even as she scrawled angrily on a piece of paper and rolled it up. She stuck her hand out of the kitchen window and screamed as the owl swooped out of nowhere to snatch the letter from her trembling fingers. 

“Why are we bringing him back here?” Dudley whined, not liking the idea of his freak cousin having free reign of _his_ house even while his father wasn’t home. 

“The sooner he comes,” Petunia told him softly, though her parents heard anyway, “the sooner they leave.”

 _XXX_

August 6th 1993. 

Lucius had dropped Harry to Privet Drive almost immediately after Petunia’s letter had arrived. That had been nearly a whole week ago, and the Evans’ were still there, along with their pet Alsatian who had been waiting in the car. Petunia had relegated the dog into the back garden, not allowing it in the house except to go to the front door and outside to do its business, unlike Marge’s dogs who had always been let wander freely and make a mess. 

“Well Harry,” Anthony said, as they all sat around the kitchen table waiting for breakfast. Maura and Petunia were working at the stove and opening presses here and there, searching for cups and plates and cutlery. 

“Yes?” Harry asked quietly. In the week he had been there, he had decided he liked his grandmother very much, but his grandfather rubbed him the wrong way. He seemed like a good man, but there was a bitterness to him that reminded Harry of Petunia. Harry wondered, briefly, if he had gone to live with them after his parents’ death, would Anthony have resented him too. 

“Do you visit any of your fathers’ family at all?” He asked, curious, wondering why Harry had been kept away from them for so many years. Was it because he was a Muggle, and those other Witches and Wizards thought they were better than him? 

“My father’s parents died before I was born. My father died. He didn’t have any other family. I mostly spend my holidays with my friend’s family; the Malfoys have been good to me.”

“Oh, how terrible,” Maura said, frowning, “well, you have us now!” 

She placed a tray of tea things down on the table, and Harry reached forward to take a cup for himself. Anthony did likewise, pouring slowly before glancing up at his grandson. He mustn’t have meant it as it sounded, Harry thought, or he hadn’t really considered how it would sound, but he gritted his teeth in anger as his grandfather spoke again. “Such a shame, your father getting himself killed. Pity he didn’t have the common sense to keep you and Lily safe before getting himself blown up. Then at least you would have had your mother too.”

“I would have had my mother anyway, had she not be as brave, loyal and loving as she was. She chose to die, to protect me, her sacrifice kept me alive, even though Lord Voldemort offered to spare her life. She chose me and _my father_ , she chose to die for us. I appreciate her sacrifice, and I honour my father’s as well, and I dislike – despise – you talking about him like that!” As Harry spoke, his voice got colder and colder, and his hands started to clench at his sides. Slowly, almost too slowly so that Harry didn’t actually notice what was happening until it was too late, Anthony Evans began to inflate, like a giant human shaped balloon. Eventually, he was round, swollen and turning blue, floating two feet above the ground. He looked like the girl from **Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory** had, as she swelled up and turned into a blueberry. 

Harry gulped, hurrying away from his grandfather to press himself against the counter. He looked around the room, taking in the stunned and horrified expressions of his family, and then turned to dart out of the back door. 

The Alsatian lifted its head as Harry ran into the garden.

He could cast magic from out here, Harry realized. The Ministry hadn’t been able to detect magic outside of the house proper, or the front driveway, ever before, so he could _Obliviate_ everyone, if only he could get them to follow him out into the garden! 

“Shit!” He hissed, kicking at a twig. How was he going to explain the accidental magic? Surely, the Ministry already had a Howler on its way to him?

The dog barked, and Harry startled. He whirled around, glancing at the dog that was digging happily at the ground. There was already a hole in the dirt and soil, and Petunia would doubtlessly be horrified when she noticed it, but then Harry saw two more holes, all in a line, and he nearly stopped breathing. That was where they had buried Vernon. Vernon was buried under there, preserved and hairless, just waiting for Evan to unearth him as their Lord came back to life, as Evan revealed himself as Harry Potter’s guardian. The dog was trying to dig Vernon up.

Harry’s mind was in a whirl. He couldn’t remember how deep the grave was, had they actually bothered digging down six feet, or had they stopped at three? How long would it take a dog that big to dig up six feet of soil anyway, Harry wondered. Did Evan use magic, if he had used magic, maybe the grave was deeper than Harry thought, and maybe the body was safe? 

“HARRY!” Someone shouted from inside the house.

Panicking, Harry threw out his arm, wand held tightly in a clenched fist. The Knight Bus jerked to a stop right in front of him, barely missing the dog, as its doors flew open. “Hello again!” Stan Shunpike said with a grin. 

“Diagon Alley,” Harry told him hurriedly, stepping onto the bus as Maura ran outside, reaching for him. The doors closed before she could touch him, but Harry caught a glimpse of Anthony squeezing his way through the backdoor and floating off into the sky above Surrey before the Bus, with a crack, shot off to its next stop. 

_XXX_

Harry decided the best course of action was to ask Lucius for help. 

The moment he arrived at The Leaky Cauldron, he paid Stan for the bus ride and then ran inside, straight over to Tom the barkeeper. “Hey!” Harry gave a small wave, biting his lip nervously. “You wouldn’t have a spare sheet of parchment lying around? Or some floo powder? I need someone to come pick me up!” 

“Why, Harry Potter,” Tom said, pressing his hand to his chest. “Gave me a start, you did, come running in here like that, thought something must have been happening outside!” But he walked around the bar without another word and led Harry towards the only fireplace in the small pub. It was out in the middle of the room, and everyone would probably hear what he was saying, but still, it wasn’t like Harry had actually thought to get the Knight Bus to Malfoy Manor: he had been a bit busy panicking at the time after all. “Here, lad, just throw in a dash of this and call out the destination.”

Harry gratefully accepted the bag of floo powder. He dipped his hand in, scooping up a small handful and then threw it into the empty fireplace. Green flames blazed to life, and Harry stuck his head in quickly and shouted, “Malfoy Manor!”

Lucius answered his fire-call with a scowl. “What happened?” He asked, looking down right annoyed. “The Ministry just owled! You’ve received a warning for using underage magic, and have apparently blown up a Muggle? While I’m rather proud of your new ‘Death Eater’ tendencies, I could have used a little warning, Harry. What were you thinking?”

Harry gulped. “It wasn’t my fault!” He shook his head at the look Lucius threw him. Merlin, but he hated disappointing the man; it made something in his chest ache whenever Lucius looked at him that way. “Dumbledore invited my grandparents to visit, and my grandfather said some rather disparaging things about my father, James, and I got angry. I didn’t mean to do it! I didn’t even have my wand on me!” 

Lucius rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “If it was accidental magic then there’s no way you would have received a warning. I’ll get a copy of that memory from you, and I’ll deal with it. I won’t have something like this on your permanent record if you haven’t earned it.” Harry softly offered his agreement. “Now, wait there. I’ve a meeting to finish up, but I’ll come and collect you shortly. I promised you an outing for your birthday and since I haven’t seen you since then this is the perfect opportunity.”

“Brilliant,” Harry said, grinning widely. “See you soon.”

He pulled his head out of the fireplace, waiting until the flames disappeared before turning and walking back to the bar. “Hey Tom,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a galleon. “Can I get something to drink please?”

“Harry Potter?” A voice questioned from behind him. “Why! It is Harry Potter. Goodness! It’s an honour, Potter!” Harry turned around to stare at the portly man who stood behind him, wringing a bowler hat between sweaty hands. 

“Hello sir,” Harry greeted, looking around nervously. 

Tom placed a Butterbeer down in front of him, and Harry turned to pay, hoping that the older Wizard would get the hint and go away. But he didn’t. Instead he held his hand out for Harry to shake. “Cornelius Fudge, I’m sure you’ve heard of me. I am Minister for Magic after all!” He grabbed Harry’s arm, waving his free hand to get Tom’s attention, then dragged Harry towards a free table. “Come now, sit, sit. I’ve just popped out for a quick lunch, and fancy my surprise to see you here. Join me,” he spoke swiftly, not giving Harry time to protest. “Now, what to order? Any recommendations, Harry?”

Harry opened his mouth, closed it again, and shook his head. Fudge just chuckled and reached for the menu. 

When Lucius finally arrived to collect him, Harry was running his fingers through his hair, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else but there. Fudge was eating messily, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin after every forkful, and spilling copious amounts of wine from his re-filling glass down his shirt. “Lucius!” Harry called loudly, spotting the tall blonde man the moment he stepped out of the floo. 

“Ah, Harry. Come along then.” Lucius paused, and blinked as if he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. His head tilted to one side, eyeing Harry’s dinner companion with surprise. “Minister? Fancy seeing you here.”

“Lucius!” Fudge said, sounding overjoyed. “Join us, please. Harry and I were just having a wonderful discussion on the regulation of cauldron bottom thickness!” 

“How… interesting,” Lucius drawled. He smothered a chuckled as Harry met his eyes, looking desperate and bored. “But we really must be going. Unfortunately, due to Dumbledore’s meddling I was unable to properly celebrate young Harry’s birthday. So, we’ll be on our way now.” 

Harry stood, shaking Fudge’s hand one more time, and followed Lucius out of the pub. As they entered the Alley, Harry turned to Lucius and asked, “So, what are we doing with the body buried in my back garden? Cause my grandparents own this giant dog who keeps trying to dig it up.”

Lucius turned to look at him, blinking slowly feeling blindsided by the question. “I… see,” he said at last, his face perfectly blank once more. “Come on, Harry, I haven’t all day.”

Harry followed dutifully. He felt rather proud of himself for having managed to surprise the elder, usually stoic, man. 

_XXX_

August 16th 1993. 

Harry slipped quietly out of the study, closing the door behind himself. Lucius lifted his head, watching the child go. Once the door was closed, he looked back down at the parchment spread across his desk.

Harry had been there, explaining in detail everything that had happen while he was at Privet Drive. The boy had waited, seated in his lap in fact, as Lucius wrote the first letter to the Department for Accidental Magic, tying it to the letter the Ministry had sent Harry, and a vial containing the memory he had helped Harry extract. He had kissed the boy softly then, and sent him on his way. 

Now, Lucius considered the best way to approach the issue with his Lord. Evan was the one who was more involved of course, being the one who took on the appearance of the dead Muggle and had, in said Muggle’s name, become the guardian of both Theodore Nott and Harry Potter. He started with Evan first, detailing the problem, his own suggestions for a solution, and finished by asking if Evan had any of his own ideas to recommend. Lucius waited until he had finished the letter to Lord Voldemort before he went to deliver them. His own owl had gone with the letter to the Ministry, as Lucius had planned, and so when Harry had arrived earlier he had been accompanied by Hedwig, who waited patiently, perched on the windowsill. 

“Bring these to the Dark Lord and Evan Rosier respectively.” Lucius tied the letters to the bird’s leg, and helped launch her out of the window. He watched her, until she was but a speck of white in the sky, before leaving his study in search of the three teenage boys currently inhabiting his Manor. As if one wasn’t dangerous enough, he thought, sighing, just as something crashed to the ground one corridor over and broke. 

_XXX_

August 31st 1993. 

Harry wasn’t sure how it had happened. They were in Diagon Alley, all of them, the three Malfoys, himself and Theo, even though they had finished their Hogwarts shopping two weeks previously. He thought it might have something to do with Draco’s pitiful attempts at guilting his parents to buy him the new Firebolt broom, but since Lucius had already said no, Harry supposed that all of this must have been Narcissa’s fault.

Ron Weasley stood in front of them, backed by almost the entirety of his family (bar the two eldest who didn’t live in the country). The redhead was being his usual thick self, for he had approached Harry loudly and attempted to hug him. Harry had jumped back, bumping into Lucius’ chest, who in turn had narrowed his eyes at the Weasley boy. Ron had squeaked, dropping the cage he held and the rat within it squeaked as well. Fred and George laughed, waving at Harry, and Harry, who was looking mortified as the majority of the Alley’s patrons were staring over at him, had just spotted Hermione making her way towards him. 

He was still determined to avoid her, to not be her friend, even though he had never really considered her a friend, merely a beneficial acquaintance. But she looked so happy to see him, and at his back Lucius had tensed and Narcissa was wrinkling her nose as if there was an unpleasant smell in the air, and Harry just sighed tiredly. 

How had this happened, he wondered. How had he ended up in Diagon Alley surrounded by people he wanted to keep happy and two of the three people he wanted to avoid pestering him. Fortunately, he thought with relief, Ginny Weasley was keeping to herself. 

“Oh Harry!” Hermione said, appearing to completely forget that Harry had slighted her at Platform nine and three-quarters last May. “You must be so excited! I know I would be. Though it’s absolutely dreadful that he wasn’t given a trial in the first place. Imagine, if he’s proved innocent. What an embarrassment to the Ministry that’ll be!” She gave a soft chuckled, then frown as Harry only stared at her in confusion. “Oh you don’t know?” She said, pointing out the rather obvious. From within her robes she pulled out a folded up newspaper and she offered it to Harry with a smile. 

Harry took it, unfolding it crease-by-crease until it was opened fully in front of him. A picture of a man in his early twenties grinned up at him. His dark hair was flying around his face, and his teeth were bared in a snarl, and even as he held up the placard with his name and prisoner number on it, the man was darting forward and back, attempting to attack the photographer and then being restrained, over and over again, as the picture kept looping. 

“Sirius Black” the sign read. 

“Muggle Killer Sirius Black appeals his sentence!” The headline read, letters darkening and lightening one at a time, as if inviting his eyes to continue along the line, to follow the magic to complete the sentence. Harry continued to read, pausing at the part where the author of the article addressed ‘Sirius Black’ as ‘Harry Potter’s godfather’, before he continued reading. He supposed that must have been why Hermione thought Harry would be excited. Harry turned to look up at Lucius, frowning because the blonde man’s name had been mentioned in the article too. Apparently, Lucius had recommended Sirius his personal lawyer and had even been the one to file the notice of appeal in the Ministry on Sirius’ behalf. 

Harry’s eyes narrowed. 

He didn’t need a godfather, though it would be wonderful if the man was freed especially considering the article was implying that he had been convicted without a trial. He had his father, and a godfather would be nice, Harry decided, but he doubted Sirius would exactly get on with Evan Rosier, Death Eater extraordinaire. 

Harry didn’t want him out. But someone must have, and since Lucius had been involved, Harry could only assume it was the blonde man’s doing. This meant that somehow Lord Voldemort was involved. 

But why did Lord Voldemort want Sirius Black free from Azkaban? 

**XXX**


	33. Chapter 32

**Words:** 4,492  
 **Chapter 32**  
September 1st 1993. Hogwarts Express.

Harry passed Severus Snape without a glance. 

The Potions Professor was half-hidden under one of the train station’s shadowy alcoves, glaring at anyone who dared walk too close to him. With Sirius Black’s impending trial, Dumbledore had decided to play it extra safe and had ordered a handful of Hogwarts staff to ride the train back to the Castle along with the students. Snape wasn’t exactly happy with this news, but since he did live in the Muggle world anyway it wasn’t too much of a hardship. What bothered him was that he was being ordered to do this for Potter’s sake. It was all about Potter. Dumbledore didn’t seem concerned that any of the other students could be in danger if Black were to be released, only Potter. Snape snorted at the thought, watching as Lucius Malfoy guided three teenage boys forward, with a hand on Harry’s back. Harry was spending time at Malfoy Manor, and yet Dumbledore was worried about a man whose trial wasn’t scheduled till sometime in the New Year, when he should be worried about the Death Eater who had his hands all over the Boy-Who-Lived. 

The moment Harry stepped onto the Express, Snape slipped out of the shadows, and easily glided his way passed the bumbling, shoving crowd of adults, to make his way onto the train. 

Somewhere near the front of that train was Remus Lupin, the new Defence Professor. Snape made his way to the very end of the train, where there were some empty compartments left. Flitwick and Babbling might be content to share their compartment with the students, but Severus was determined to avoid them all until his first Potions class of the year, and if hopefully everyone happened to come down with the flu, then longer. 

_XXX_

The train was just about to cross the border between England and Scotland when it rumbled to an unexpected stop. There was no warning, other than the sudden unnatural chill that crawled across the walls of the train and over each of the occupants. Ice coated the windows, and breath fogged the air, and no one dared speak in the still silence. 

Harry looked at Draco. Draco looked at Theo. The man who had been asleep until the train had stopped, pulled back his hood, and looked slowly around the compartment at each of the three thirteen-year-old boys. 

“Well, this doesn’t look good,” the elder Wizard said softly. His wand was in his hand, and Harry copied his example and withdrew his own. Draco and Theo followed suit. 

The door to their compartment began to slide open, slowly, so very slowly. It had the three teenagers tensing, fingers clenching tighter around their wands, but the Professor suddenly jumped to his feet, pushing them back and out of the way. He met the Dementor face-to-cowl as it slid into the compartment with its hood up. 

“Re-musssss Lu-pin,” it wheezed, sounding like an old man who had great difficulty breathing. It held out its hand or its claw actually because the fingers had no flesh on them: they were merely bones, poking out of the end of its tattered sleeve. In its hand was a rolled up piece of parchment, and with great hesitancy Remus reached out to grab hold of it. He unrolled it in silence, his wand still pointed at the Dementor while keeping one eye on it and one on the parchment. 

“What is it?” Harry asked. He’d never seen a Dementor before, and he had certainly never been told about them going around delivering notes either. 

“A summons,” Draco answered, obviously having come across this before. “Father received one years ago, whenever the Ministry thought they had caught a Death Eater. They’d summon anyone who was pardoned and have them give evidence against the accused. Dementors guard the Wizarding prison, Azkaban, and they act like wardens or…” He trailed off with a frown, unsure what the Muggle word he needed was. 

“Bailiffs,” Remus added in a soft voice. He lowered his wand, taking two steps back from the Dementor who still hovered in the doorway. 

“What does it say?” Harry asked. He walked closer, staring intently at the creature just inside of their compartment door. His friends had backed up, leaning almost against the frozen window, and Harry could understand why they didn’t want to get close. He had read that many people had negative reactions to the Dementors, flashbacks, cold sweats, tremors, fits, mild bouts of depression, even faint nausea. And Theodore definitely looked nauseous. 

But Harry wasn’t feeling any of this. There was a strange ringing in his ears, almost like the echo of a scream, but he tried to ignore it. Aside from that, he didn’t think he was experiencing any negative reactions, instead there was a humming in his veins, and the closer he got to the Dementor the less his skin itched. It was strange, to be so excited by the presence of one of those creatures, but Harry reasoned, it was perhaps the Horcrux within him, reacting to the presence of something almost as equally dark as itself? After all, Lord Voldemort had been renowned for his famed friendly relations with the Dementors. That might have been as a result of the amount of Dark magic he had used, or the lack of soul he had left, but whatever it was, it seemed to have rubbed off on Harry, because he reached out without thinking to run his fingers over the claw that remained outstretched. A jolt went through him, like being struck by lightning, and Harry let out a soft, barely noticeable moan. Except Remus was a Werewolf and he was standing right beside Harry, so he heard and he gave the boy a curious, concerned glance before tugging the child backwards. 

“Ha-rrr-eh Pott-er,” a second Dementor wheezed, appearing behind the first. He held out another roll of parchment, and Harry took it without another second being wasted. He unrolled it, eyes flickering over the ink, eager and curious and excited. The Dementors flocked around him, skeletal fingers reaching out to brush his hair or his cheek, until Lupin shot a Patronus at them, the silver wolf chasing them away. 

One more Dementor, who sought his witness at the very other end of the train, came gliding towards his brethren. They departed together, and the train began to move once more. 

Harry sat in silence, the letter still open on his lap. 

“They want me to give evidence at Sirius Black’s trial.” He said softly, eyebrows furrowed together in thought. “I didn’t know Sirius Black.” Remus opened his mouth, and then closed it again. “How am I meant to testify to anything? I was a baby when he went to prison!” He turned to look at the older man, obviously the new Professor since he was on the train to Hogwarts. “Professor,” Harry said, “did you know Sirius Black?”

“I did,” the man said after a short silence. He thought for a moment again, then said, “he and I were very good friends with your father.” 

Harry doubted they were friends with Evan. 

If they were friends with James then they’d likely not approve of his current friends or his new father, Harry knew. And so he said nothing to Remus’ comment, only shrugged and turned his face away so he could stare out of the window at nothing in particular. The letter was still open on his lap, and every once in a while Harry looked down at it, eyes running of the words “Sirius Black, godfather of Harry Potter”, before looking away with a frown. 

If the man was anything like the other Gryffindors Harry knew, there was no point getting attached to the idea of a Godfather. He’d be better off without. 

_XXX_

September 2nd 1993. Hogwarts. 

When the list of electives had gone around, Harry had glanced over the list three times, considering each option carefully before finally coming to a decision. He would definitely be taking Ancient Runes, which was taught by Professor Bathsheda Babbling. 

He wasn’t a fan of maths, and so Harry didn’t really want to take Arithmancy, despite how important he knew it would be for spell weaving. But he wouldn’t be able to learn that until he was of age anyway, considering all of the rules the Ministry had in place about creating your own spells, and Harry figured he could always get a tutor later in his Hogwarts years if he really needed to learn Arithmancy. 

The other choices were Divination with Professor Trelawney or Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid. Hagrid was still just as happy to see Harry as he ever was. They didn’t get on very well at first, but in the middle of first year when Hagrid had gotten drunk and set his hut on fire with himself unconscious inside it, Harry had been the one to put out the flames and effectively save the half-giant’s life. Hagrid was under the impression that he owed Harry one, and taking Hagrid’s class this year would basically mean doing very little work for a lot of House points. But he sort of, really, kind of, maybe wanted to take Divination too. 

The Dark Lord had targeted his family for some reason. And while Harry didn’t really know why, Evan had once mentioned it had something to do with a Prophecy. Ultimately, that meant that the Dark Lord believed in Divination. True diviners existed of course, but Harry had heard that Trelawney wasn’t one of them, merely a fraud. 

Yet, he was torn between the two electives regardless. And so, having come to an alternative conclusion and running it by his Head of House, Harry was now in possession of a Ministry-loaned time-turner. He would be taking all three electives, and the time-turner was only to be used in emergencies, in case Harry found he couldn’t keep up with his school work and his Quidditch practise (since of course he couldn’t quit because Roger Davis was still blackmailing him to keep him on the team, and honestly, after two years, Harry was starting to rather enjoy beating the other teams). Harry had decided he’d use the time-turner to get extra sleep, because no one would much like him if he were tired and cranky all of the time, and maybe he’d borrow it to get his meals and then study through his actual meal time? And what about meeting with Evan? He could use it then too, so then no one would notice he was gone, and they could spend as long as they liked together. 

Except, then, of course, Flitwick had informed him that _he_ would be holding on to the time-turner unless Harry specifically asked for it for a specific reason. This meant he could cross using it to see Evan off of the list. None of his classes conflicted, unlike Hermione’s, who was apparently taking _all_ of the electives at once and actually needed her time-turner: Flitwick had only procured Harry’s just in case. 

So now Harry had Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, Care of Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes, Herbology, History of Magic and Divination this year. Along with Quidditch. Harry sighed deeply, gathering his things together, and making his way to his first class. 

Care of Magical creatures was actually much more amusing than Harry had ever imagined it could be. This was Hagrid’s first year teaching, and so far he seemed to know what he was talking about but he had absolutely no control over his class. And he didn’t seem to understand the danger ratings the Ministry had placed on magical creatures, because he started their very first lesson with a Hippogriff. It was rated “XXX”, and while not the worst of the creatures listed in the textbook (that had coincidentally tried to eat Harry when he had bought it), Hippogriffs weren’t the safest either. 

“Easily offended, hippogriffs are. Don't never insult one, ‘cause it might be the last thing yeh do.” Hagrid had said, and while all of the Ravenclaws had listened, the Gryffindors started shoving each other and laughing, obviously amused by the sight of the horse/bird hybrid creature. 

“I bet it isn’t so dangerous,” Ron said, nudging one of his friends.

“Prove it!” Dean Thomas snickered, shoving Ron towards the creature. 

Chuckling, Ron just nodded his head. He ignored the wide-eyed stares of the rest of the class, he ignored the way Hagrid came towards him with his arms out, whispering “bow to him, Ron, bow to him”, and he ignored the way Buckbeak snorted and stomped its hoof at him.

Eventually, Ron was standing right before the Hippogriff, and Buckbeak waited a moment, waited to see if Ron would bow. When he didn’t, the creature reared back, kicking out with his front legs, and they hit Ron right on the sternum, sending him sprawling backwards.1 He landed in a heap on the ground, legs curled up against his chest and his breath came in strained pants as if there were nothing more difficult in the world than breathing in and out, in and out. There were tears on his pale face, and he was biting down hard on his bottom lip; a trickle of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. 

Hagrid ran towards him, glancing warily at Buckbeak, but the Hippogriff was content to ignore them both now. The Professor tried to scoop Ron into his large arms, but the teenager screamed so shrilly that the man actually stumbled backwards. Hagrid dropped Ron and fell, landing awkwardly on his arse. 

Harry rolled his eyes, taking three steps forward before sweeping forward into a low bow. He waited until Buckbeak lowered itself a fraction, just enough for them to be eye-level had Harry been standing straight, and then Harry stood. His wand was out, pointed at Ron, and he said, “ _Stupefy. Levicorpus_ ”. 

Ron rose into the air, his body unnaturally still and straight. Harry glanced sideways at the Professor, who didn’t own a wand (well not legally anyway) and who couldn’t levitate the injured boy to the hospital wing. “May I be excused?” He asked his voice soft and calm, the opposite of the hysterical murmuring the rest of the class were participating in. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Hagrid muttered, blinking owlishly, looking as if he hadn’t quite comprehended what had just happened. He scratched his head. “Wait, I’ll come with yer.”

“No,” Harry said softly, “just don’t continue the lesson without me. I’ll be right back.” He turned away then, his wand still held out in front of him, and he flicked it lightly. As he did, Ron started to float forward. As Harry walked, he’d flick his wand lightly every now and then, propelling Ron in front of him. Hagrid and the rest of the class watched him go, their mouths wide. Some called after him, some offered to go with him, but Harry just ignored them all. 

Hermione was the only one who kept quiet, but she stared after him with narrowed, curious eyes. He was ignoring her again it seemed, she thought sadly. Then she shook her head, pushing the thought away. There would be time to corner Harry Potter later, but for now, she had a Care of Magical Creatures class to attend. 

_XXX_

September 14th 1993. Hogwarts. 

It was her birthday, but once again her parents had celebrated with her at the end of August. They still hadn’t gotten the hang of using owl post, so Hermione had started off the day with no cards and no gifts. Lavender Brown had whispered “happy birthday” at her over the pancakes at breakfast but no one else appeared to have realized what day it was. 

Even Nearly-Headless Nick seemed to have forgotten, and he had been the one in first and second year encouraging her to throw a party to mark the day. 

With a sigh, Hermione pushed open the doors of the library and made her way inside. She gathered a few books from various shelves, all of which she had started reading but had never finished, and she knew each shelving number by heart and could probably find them all with her eyes closed. It was a little pathetic, but it wasn’t like Hermione had any other way to spend her time. She didn’t really have friends. 

Ginny spoke to her sometimes still, but after last year Hermione wasn’t really sure if she wanted to be friends with a girl like that. Ginny had befriended her and used her in order to make the Polyjuice Potion, to sneak into the Ravenclaw Tower in disguise and steal a diary from Harry. 

According to Ron, who was the biggest loud mouth Hermione had ever met and who had been more than willing to tell her about everything when they met at Diagon Alley that summer, Ginny had been the one to open the Chamber. She was being forced by some house elf, or so Dumbledore had told the Weasley parents, and this house elf supposedly worked for one of Voldemort’s Death Eaters. Fluturim, the house elf that had actually belonged to Gilderoy Lockhart, who had actually been possessed by Voldemort, had been executed at the Ministry that summer, after being declared a ‘dangerous creature’. Ginny appeared sweet and innocent, quiet and shy for the entire time Hermione had spent with her that summer, but since they had arrived back at Hogwarts Ginny barely spared her a glance unless it was to glare angrily. Apparently, Ginny blamed Hermione for last year’s events. As she had told Hermione the week before, as her _friend_ Hermione should have just taken the diary from Harry so Ginny wouldn’t have had to. 

Ginny didn’t seem to be good friend material, in Hermione’s opinion. 

Then there was Harry. Harry was a nice boy, but it was those friends of his, Malfoy especially that meant he didn’t want to spend time with Hermione. She was the furthest thing from stupid, and she had noticed the way Draco would avoid Harry if he was near Hermione. Theodore wasn’t as bad, but he would rather stick with his housemate than side with a Gryffindor Mudblood. Maybe after Hogwarts, if she kept persisting, maybe then Harry could be her friend? 

She shook her head, laughing slightly. Was she really so desperate for a friend that she would wait five more years to have Harry? It wasn’t as if she had many friends in the Muggle world either. And the only person who ever really spoke to her was Ron, because he thought she would put in a good word on him to Harry, and Lavender who wanted help with her homework, and this strange blonde Ravenclaw girl who was in the library sometimes, but conversations with her were confusing and awkward and Hermione would rather do without. 

Arms full with textbooks, Hermione made her way to one of the tables hidden at the back of the library. It was always quieter there, and less people ever came looking at the shelves in that direction so she was generally left to study in peace. 

Except Harry was sitting at the table she wanted to use. Biting her lip, unsure whether to stay or go, Hermione stood there awkwardly. She tried to tuck a lock of hair behind her ears, juggling to hold the books with one hand, and nearly ended up dropping them all. One fell, but before it could hit the floor, Harry whispered, “ _Accio_ ” and the book landed gently on the table. “Sit down, Hermione,” he said without looking up at her. 

“How did you know it was me?”

“Anyone else would have immediately started on about how much of an honor it was to see me.” Then he snorted, “actually anyone else would be sitting over there at the group work desks having a good laugh at someone else’s misfortune.” Hermione looked behind her, and sure enough four Hufflepuffs were pointing and laughing at a lone Slytherin first year who wasn’t quite tall enough to reach the book he wanted. 

“That’s cruel!” She hissed, eyes narrowing. She was about to walk over to help him, when an older Slytherin appeared, glaring at the Hufflepuffs and handing down the book to the eleven-year-old. 

“Slytherins look after their own. He’d have only been suspicious if you had handed him the book.” Harry said, watching as Hermione sat down.

“What are you reading?” She asked. There was so much she wanted to talk to him about, so much she wanted to say and ask, but she wasn’t sure how to bring it up. There was the thing that had happened last year with the Chamber of Secrets, the things she knew about it, Hermione wondered if anyone had even bothered to tell Harry. Then there was his ability to speak Parseltongue. She knew what Dumbledore had told the Weasleys when they had asked, but Hermione had been doing her own research, because that was the kind of person she was and she doubted that Harry knew what she knew. And of course Sirius Black’s upcoming trial. But again, she wasn’t sure how to bring it up. 

Fortunately for her, Harry answered her honestly, touching on one of the subjects she had wondered about. 

“Adoption laws.” He answered with a shrug. “I’m just wondering what will happen if Sirius Black gets out of Azkaban. I was looking at other laws earlier, about why I’d be asked to give evidence. Apparently as his Godson and Heir I get to be a character witness, but since I don’t exactly know him, I’m supposedly only there for moral support and to say if I’d like to live with him one day. Lupin and Snape are going as real character witnesses though, because they went to school with him.”

“And what have you found?” She asked, genuinely curious. 

“So far, if he wanted I could live with him, regardless of what anyone else wanted once he was cleared. He’s my legal guardian since my parents died, and as his legal Heir I have the right to inherit everything he owns even if I choose not to live with him. Until I turn 17 he has full control over all of my money and estates, because he acts as the defacto Head of my House since I’m underage. But after I turn seventeen, until I turn twenty-one, I get to run the estate and Sirius keeps control over the money. I still get to use my trust vault, and apparently he had to pay me a salary or spending money or something, but other than that, I have absolutely nothing in my name. It kind of sounds shite to be honest, but I already knew that. One of Draco’s tutors told me that when we were… spending the summer together.” Harry was going to say ‘kids’ but then he remembered that everyone thought Draco and he had only met at age eleven, when in fact they had been a lot younger. 

“What bothers me is that as ‘family’ Sirius could demand that I sit in on every meeting he has with the Ministry, with the Wizengamot, or with his lawyer. Even if other family members choose to speak to him, he can call me there to act as an mediator. I could be missing classes, at any time, just because he feels like it. I don’t even know the man! And it’s terrible that he’s been locked up for all these years for something he didn’t do, but, well, this is my education we’re talking about! I’m not about to throw it away on a stranger, you know?” He took a deep breath. Harry rubbed at his eyes, frowning. He wasn’t that bothered about missing classes really, since he was sure Flitwick would count court meetings as a specific reason for using the time-turner. But mostly he was just afraid of what Sirius would think of him if he happened to run into Lucius at the same time. Lucius was married to Sirius’ cousin and what if Narcissa was there and recognized him? Would Sirius hate him for being friends with Death Eaters? 

What really annoyed him, more than the fear that his godfather might hate him, was the fact that he even cared. Because he shouldn’t! He had Evan. He had Lucius and Draco and Theo. He didn’t need or want Sirius Black. Whatever Voldemort was playing at, getting Sirius released, Harry didn’t appreciate the game. 

“Oh Harry,” Hermione whispered, looking rather upset. “But he wasn’t innocent! Don’t you know what he did? Ron said his parents said this was some sort of Death Eater conspiracy. After the Death Eater’s house elf attacked Ginny last year, and considering, well, apparently they had actually been after you, Headmaster Dumbledore believes they’re trying to release Black to get custody of you. They want to hurt you!”

“Dumbledore said?” Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes. If Harry didn’t know better, he’d guess this was Dumbledore’s doing, releasing Sirius as another ‘control Harry test’ to see what he’d do, how he’d react. But Lucius was involved. And several other people had voted to give Sirius a trial that Harry knew to be Death Eaters, so it definitely had nothing to do with Dumbledore. 

“Headmaster Dumbledore,” Hermione corrected sounding a little annoyed by his disrespect. “Sirius Black was the man who told You-Know-Who where you and your parents were hiding. When he escaped he killed thirteen Muggle bystanders, Harry. Thirteen, with one spell! Then he escaped again. He was finally arrested, and he just kept laughing and shouting, like a mad-man. He’s crazy, and he’s after you! You need to be careful. If he calls you, never be alone with him, Harry. Promise me! Promise you’ll be careful around him.”

“He isn’t a Death Eater, Hermione.” Harry was sure, because Evan had said as much even before his Hogwarts letter had first arrived, back when Lucius was digging around the Ministry for Harry’s records so Evan Rosier could adopt him in the Muggle world. 

“Why else would Death Eaters be trying to rescue him then?” She placed her hands on her hips and frowned. 

Harry frowned back, because honestly, why else would they be helping him? Maybe he had been Voldemort’s man all along and no one had noticed? Maybe Sirius really was out to get Harry, but then, why would Lucius help him get to Harry, unless Voldemort had ordered his death? But no, no, Harry told himself, Voldemort didn’t want him dead. Tom had said Voldemort wanted to own him, to have him as his servant, so no he couldn’t be trying to get Harry killed. He clenched his fists under the table, gritted his teeth together, and promised to write to Evan the moment Hermione left him alone. 

He really wanted to know what was going on. 

**XXX**

Thanks everyone for reading :) Let me know what you thought!


	34. Chapter 33

**Words:** 3,199  
 **Chapter 33**  
October 15th 1993. Forbidden Forest. 

Evan watched them. The Ravenclaw Quidditch team flew laps around the pitch, and Harry hovered in the middle of them all, waiting quietly on his broom as his eyes darted around, searching for the golden snitch. The Death Eater stayed hidden behind the trees that lined the entrance of the forbidden forest. His wings fluttered lightly in the breeze, and his antennae twitched whenever a leaf fell or another insect drew too close. 

As the Quidditch practise ended, the butterfly spread his wings and flew deeper into the forest. 

Harry Potter waited until the rest of his team mates were out of sight, and then he re-mounted his broom and flew towards the forest. He dismounted once the castle was out of sight, walking unsteadily across uneven ground with his Nimbus 2001 clutched in his left hand. His right hand squeezed around his wand as he cast a _Lumos_. 

“Hello,” Evan whispered, once he had changed from butterfly to man. 

“Hello,” Harry whispered back. “I have missed you.” 

Evan gave a slow nod, a soft smile on his lips, before he reached forward to drag his son into a tight hug. “I have missed you too, Caen.”

“How’s it going?” Harry shifted, pulling out of Evan’s hold and lowering himself down onto the stump of a tree. This was their usual meeting place, though they hadn’t seen each other in some time, it still felt as comfortable as always, and Harry easily fell into the familiarity of their meetings. Evan moved so he was leaning back against a tree trunk and he watched Harry curiously, head tilted to one side. The teenager had his head thrown back, the rays of the moon seeping through the canopy of trees to fall on his face, reflecting back off of his glasses. “With the Dark Lord, I mean?”

“It is going well. We’re recruiting at some times and at other times we are searching for a way to return our Lord to full strength. We have a plan, but it must be modified and perfected before we’d even attempt to try it. Lord Voldemort is nothing if not a perfectionist,” Evan added with a snort of amusement. 

“That’s good.” Harry gave a wry smile. “But what’s the story with Sirius Black?”

“Ah,” Evan said, mouth falling open and then closing again as he thought of what to say. He could tell the truth, he supposed, though the Dark Lord had not given him permission too. Or he could lie to his child who would probably know he was lying. Or he could give a half-truth, a mix of both of his other options and keep everyone happy. Or he could say nothing. “You’ll find out in time, Caen. Now isn’t the time.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit!” Harry hissed. He stood from where he had been sitting, brushing the back of his trousers off angrily. He leant over Evan, sneering at his father’s amused face. “This concerns me! Black is after me! Do you know how badly this is affecting my school work? What if my grade average drops because of this? You’ll have no one to blame but yourself or you Lord!”

Evan’s hand shot out, his fingers gripping tightly to Harry’s chin. “Don’t use that tone with me, boy.” Harry lowered his eyes, apologizing silently. Evan didn’t usually punish him, only if Harry really, really deserved it. And for Evan to lose his temper usually meant that the man was stressed or injured or Harry had done something very disrespectful. After Harry had turned his face away, Evan let go of him. His fingers gently caressed over one cheek, before Evan removed his hand completely and sighed. “Arrangements for the trial are on-going. I don’t really know much about them; that is Lucius’ foray, so perhaps you should nag him? However, I do know that the Wizengamot has agreed to give Black parole until the actual trial date, which means he will be free until then. He is allowed to contact you, but don’t worry he won’t hurt you, Harry, because I’m sure you’ve been hearing differently, hmm?”

Harry rolled his eyes. He wasn’t sure if Evan could be believed, though he knew Evan believed what he was saying. Hermione had said that Black was a murderer and a Death Eater who had betrayed his parents and himself. Evan had insisted Black _wasn’t_ a Death Eater, but Death Eaters were helping him escape from Azkaban, and so Harry wasn’t sure what to think. Maybe he had been a Death Eater, but Voldemort hadn’t told anyone, and instead kept him as some sort of secret-agent-spy? Harry rolled his eyes: speculating would do nothing but give him a headache, he told himself. It would be best to ask Lucius or perhaps the Dark Lord if they ran into each other again, or maybe ask the man himself? He was bound to call for him eventually; after all, Harry had already been summoned as a character witness for the trial so he’d need to actually meet Sirius first. Or he hoped he would, because otherwise he wouldn’t make much of a witness, unable to comment on the character of a man he’s never met. 

Though, perhaps this was all for show and Sirius was never going to be freed? They had chosen one friend, one enemy (for Snape didn’t try and mask his hatred of Sirius Black) and one child who couldn’t be called either, though he was family. Alternatively, the Wizengamot could finally be doing things fairly, aiming for a neutral balance of opinions on which the jury could rest their final decision. Having ten Death Eaters vouch for Sirius wouldn’t look so well, unlike having three people, each with differing opinions, arguing for the man in their own way. It was much more realistic, and lawful, and it was how the Muggles did it too, Harry noted. 

“Just give it a chance, child,” Evan breathed into his ear, pulling the boy into another hug. “Our Lord knows what he’s doing. And he’s doing it for you.”

“Is he a Death Eater?” Harry asked, trying his luck once more. He brushed off the comment about Voldemort, because it was too much like the things Tom Riddle had used to say to him, to imply about him and Voldemort, even though they were the furthest words from the truth imaginable. They still made him feel strangely; his stomach rolled and his muscles tensed and his heart speed up. Flattered, curious, cautious, amused, aroused? He felt the others certainly, at the thought that _the_ Dark Lord could feel something for him, but he was only aroused by Lucius. So, he didn’t care for Voldemort then? But he certainly was pleased when he thought about those kind of comments, and they elicited a feeling of safety deep within his chest, because surely Voldemort wouldn’t kill his heir whom he loved, would he? 

At least he wouldn’t, yet, not until the Lord himself had sorted through his feelings. This meant that Harry still had time to decide, to determine what side he was really on. He was Dark, no doubt, but if this was all an elaborate ploy to kill Harry or capture and punish him somehow, he’d need to have his own contingency plan in place. He’d need someone to turn to, someone to run to, and as he glanced at Evan he knew Evan couldn’t be that person. But Sirius, could Sirius be his escape? 

Only if he isn’t a Death Eater, Harry thought. He wouldn’t have to stay with the man, just long enough to escape Voldemort, and then he’d run to the farthest corner of the world and hide because he knew he wouldn’t be able to fight against his family and friends and kill any of them. But he wouldn’t lie back and be killed either. 

“Is Black a Death Eater?” Harry asked again. 

“Innocent until proven guilty, Caen,” Was all Evan would say in response. 

_XXX_

October 31st 1993. 

Remus Lupin had wanted to talk to him. He had been quite adamant and even Harry’s insistence that he carry out the Samhain rituals didn’t deter the werewolf. So, Harry found himself sitting cross-legged in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, with a small bonfire burning in front of him. It was surrounded by large stones, to keep it from spreading, and Harry calmly placed the small bones he had collected earlier that evening onto the fire, one by one. They had belonged to Hagrid’s chicken before Harry had killed them; skinning and gutting them swiftly, and now their meat lay cooked on the silver dish resting on the chair beside the fire. The seat was left empty for any dead family member who wished to visit, the food placed there so they would not be offended at being excluded. 

Ghosts hovered around the edges of the class room, and Remus paced back and forth, his eyes wide as Harry began to pray, his chant mixing with his magic, full of emotion and power and intensity. It made it sound as if he were singing, rather than merely praying, and Harry lost himself to the magic before pulling a sheet of parchment from his pocket and dropping it into the fire as well. He had written all of his weaknesses and fears onto the parchment, and he watched it burn to ashes with a smile on his face. It was good luck for the following year, because of course the Celtic calendar began in November not in January, so this night marked the end of the year. 

This night was the date his parents had died twelve years ago. 

Hedwig hooted lowly, and Harry looked up at her and away from the fire. There was a small lead box on the floor beside him, and he reached into the fire to pull free an ember. He hissed as his skin burned. Harry dropped the ember into the box and tied it to Hedwig’s leg. 

“You know where to go, girl.” And she fluttered her wings and took flight from the classroom window. There was a long way to go until she reached Albania, but Evan was his only family as far as Harry was concerned and so the flight would be worth it all in the end. 

“You’ve burnt your hand,” Remus whispered. He waved his wand and the blisters and reddened skin on Harry’s fingers and palm disappeared. “You could have used an _Accio_ , you know.”

“That’s not how the ritual works. You never get anything for nothing. My suffering is the sacrifice for a year’s worth of good luck for my family. I follow the old ways, Professor, and I follow them correctly unlike many other pretenders.” Harry stood as he spoke and made his way to the window. Out in the courtyard several children ran around dressed in cloaks and hats and masks, and while trick-or-treating had existed back in the Pagan days before Christianity, it was only used to harvest food from other families so that it could be offered to the gods. No one ever gave out sweets and no one ever kept anything for themselves. Harry sneered at them, and then at Dumbledore who had appeared in the middle of the courtyard with a basket full of candy. 

“Fool,” Harry muttered, unbelieving that a teacher could be stupid enough to give children _candy_ , and so much of it too. 

“I knew your family.” Remus said after a moment. “Your parents and I were very close as children, and then as adults too. We went to Hogwarts together, we told each other everything. I was your honorary godfather, you know. Sirius was your godfather.”

“Why not you?” Harry asked curiously.

Remus gave a sad smile and a shrug. He couldn’t tell Harry the truth, not until he knew Harry’s opinions on Dark creatures and they hadn’t gotten that far into their lessons yet. “No reason I guess, but James did know Sirius longer.”

“And look how well that worked out for him.” 

Remus glanced at Harry, his eyes wide. He must have been mistaken, he thought; Harry Potter would never have spoken so coldly about his family, would he?

“Look, I know you were their friend, and that you cared about them. But to me they’re only vague ideas. I’ve never known them and I never will. You wanted to speak to me, and honestly all I want to know is whether you believe Sirius to be a Death Eater or not? I have to see him soon, and different people have a different opinion on him, and I would sincerely like to form an opinion of my own. But the only information I can find has been sanctioned by the Ministry or the media and honestly it is all very biased.”

“Yes,” Remus said at last. “For a time I believed he was a traitor. But-” Remus went to continue speaking, but Harry raised his hand just as an alarm started blaring. 

“It’s part of the ritual,” Harry told him softly. “One minute of silence at midnight.” 

Remus bowed his head, glancing at Harry through his fringe. The boy had his head ducked, and his eyes closed, and he looked so solemn and serious that it made Remus frown. How had Harry learnt all of this anyway? Didn’t he live with Muggles? 

The silence was broken a minute later, but Remus didn’t get the chance to finish speaking. More alarms began to blare and outside in the courtyard children started screaming. 

“The proximity wards!” Remus gasped. Harry looked at him curiously, not having heard anything about these new wards. “Dumbledore allowed the Dementors to stay at the school, because the Ministry insisted, as long as they kept a certain distance from the castle and the students. If the wards have gone off, it must mean…”

“The students are screaming. Of course the Dementors have breached the wards,” Harry said with a roll of his eyes. Someone screaming was always the best indicator of something bad happening. Wards could be tampered with, but fear… fear was telling. 

The Dementors hadn’t only breeched the wards, Harry realized as he turned around. They had also come inside the castle. One watched him from the threshold of the classroom, its skeletal arms outstretched, before one fingers crooked in a ‘come hither’ gesture. Harry walked towards it, unafraid, unaffected by its presence. 

“ _Expect Pat_ -” Lupin started to cast. But Harry stopped him with a glare and a disarming spell. 

“You are wanted, little human,” it hissed at him. It wasn’t quite Parseltongue, but it was close and Harry narrowed his eyes, wondering if the creature only understood hissed words or real English as well. 

“What for?” Harry asked, using his normal accent. He didn’t want to risk slipping into Parseltongue in front of a Gryffindor professor. It was common knowledge that he could speak it, but only a handful of people had actually heard him use it and so most of the others only knew through rumours and gossip. It was easy to ignore gossip, to refute it, and Remus had done just that, refusing to believe it until he heard it for himself. Lord Voldemort had heard him speak it, but while using Lockhart’s body meant that Lockhart had been the one to hear it not him, it didn’t mean that Lord Voldemort didn’t know it to still be true. But that was different to just hearing of the ability through a stupid rumour. 

The Dementor didn’t answer and Harry thought for a moment whether he should have hissed. But that was silly. How else did the Ministry communicate with them except through English? So of course the Dementors must understand it. 

“You are wanted at the Ministry. The Criminal Black demands your presence.”

“It’s the middle of the night!” Remus shouted. He raised his wand again, but the Dementor had already taken hold of Harry’s arm and pulled. Harry fell into the creature’s bony chest, letting out a gasp at the unexpected contact. 

“No time…” it hissed, “like the… pressssssent.” Harry disappeared into the corridor with the creature. His bonfire continued to burn, ignored, as Remus chased his student through the school. But then there were other Dementors in the corridor, blocking his way, all of them hissing at him, “He is wanted.” And Remus had no choice but to let Harry go to the Ministry at six minutes past twelve on the first of November. 

What a start to the New Year. 

_XXX_

November 6th 1993. Quidditch Pitch. 

Gryffindor were actually running the Hufflepuff team into the ground. The poor Hufflepuffs hadn’t managed to score of Quaffle yet, and Gryffindor were already 100 points ahead by the time their Seeker managed to catch the snitch. 

Draco snickered lightly in the stands, enjoying someone else’s humiliation greatly. The Hufflepuff team made their way forlornly towards their locker room, ignoring the cheering that was loud and noticeable in the Gryffindor stand. The Slytherins booed loudly, though they were still drowned out by the Gryffindors. The rest of the Hufflepuff looked like they might cry but the Ravenclaws stayed still and quiet, enjoying the match regardless of the victor. 

Except Harry. Harry had stood up and was slowly making his way out of the stand and down onto the ground below. Hermione Granger followed his example, slipping away from the Gryffindors and chasing the lone Ravenclaw across the field. 

“I need to talk to you,” she shouted at his back. 

Harry stopped walking. He turned back to face the girl, a polite smile on his face. “What is it, Hermione, what now?” He rubbed at his eyes tiredly, and she frowned at the sight of him. 

“You don’t look like you’ve been sleeping.” She said instead of answering him. “Are you ok?”

“It’s rude to answer a question with a question,” he told her with a grin. “I had to go to the Ministry last night. The Dementors have a habit of collecting me at night. Snape’s going tonight, so he’s bound to be even worse than normal in tomorrow morning’s Potions class.” 

“Oh joy,” Hermione said drolly. 

“Other than that, I’m fine. Now what did you want? I was trying to sneak off for a nap.” It was only 7pm, but Harry really did look exhausted. Hermione though had tried sharing her theory with other people or searching in the library, but she hadn’t liked what she had found. And now she wanted the opinion of someone who mattered to her, someone who would know but be unbiased about it. 

“What do you know about werewolves?” She asked suddenly, wringing her hands in front of her stomach. 

Harry paused, mid-breath. He exhaled loudly, his mind racing as he wondered why she would ask something like that. Harry frowned, narrowing his eyes at the girl and asked, “Why?”

“Because,” she told him, looking around nervously to see if anyone was listening in. But there was no one around but them. Everyone else was still out on the pitch. “I think there’s one at Hogwarts.”

**XXX**

Did you know that bonfires were originally called Bone Fires because you burnt the bones of the animals you slaughtered and stored for the winter? Learn something new every day.


	35. Chapter 34

**Words:** 4,090  
 **Chapter 34**  
November 27th 1993. Quidditch Pitch. 

Harry really hated playing Quidditch in the rain. He wasn’t really that fond of playing Quidditch either, but he had gotten used to winning and rather enjoyed the feeling that victory brought with it. But playing in the rain was downright horrible. Not only was it wet, and cold, and horrible, but it made his uniform cling uncomfortably to his skin and it were clingy enough already. It also made the handle of his Nimbus 2001 slippery, so instead of chafing against his gloved hands the handle just kept sliding out of his grip, and it was killing Harry’s thighs trying to compensate. 

Thunder and lightning were crashing above his head, and Harry glanced up warily as the snitch flew higher and higher right into the centre of the storm. He wasn’t going to bother, because after all what went up would eventually come down, even if it was magical and had magic powered wings; the snitch would eventually grow bored of not being sought and come looking for a Seeker. 

But then the Hufflepuff Seeker tilted upwards, broom handle pointed towards the sky and the bristles trembling in Harry’s face as he shot away. He turned over his shoulder, brown hair blowing back out of his eyes and he grinned at Harry, “Eat my dust.”

Harry sighed heavily. He too then took off with a burst of speed towards the storm clouds above him. When he finally caught up to the other Seeker he said, “Actually there are no dust particles this high up.” Harry grinned widely, his eye teeth poking out over his lip. “So, instead, drink my spray.” And sure enough, as Harry’s broom darted forward once more, it flicked to the left shooting a small jet of water right into the Hufflepuff’s face. 

Harry was tempted to stick his tongue out, except he knew the other boy wouldn’t see. No one needed to know how immature he was being, no one would find out, but it all seemed a bit pointless if even the one it was aimed at didn’t notice. Harry’s hand shot out, fingers closing around the fluttering snitch. Just as Harry grabbed hold of his broom again, a bolt of lightning appeared out of practically nowhere, scorching just passed where Harry’s arm had been and singeing the ends of his hair. With trembling, slippery fingers, Harry steered his broom back down onto the ground. 

“And Ravenclaw win, with 180 points to 50!” Someone shouted, and people cheered. Harry continued to hover on his broom centimetres above the ground. The rest of his team mates rushed towards him, Roger through his arms around Harry’s neck and gave him a one armed hug, his other arm holding tight to his Comet 360. 

Benjamin, one of the Chasers, tugged him off of his broom, and swung Harry around in a wide circle. “That was close my friend,” he said laughing. 

“I was almost hit by lightning,” Harry replied in an odd detached sort of voice. 

“Oh,” Benjamin whispered, “that _was_ close!” 

As he spoke, a rush of wind swept passed them, blowing up robes and rustling hair. Every member of the team was holding tightly to their broom, except Harry; his was still floating by his side, where he had left it once Benjamin pulled him off. The wind caught the bristles, and Harry was too slow to react. He watched, confused at first as it began to fly away from him, and then he realised what was really happening: the wind was blowing it away. 

“Oi!” He shouted, jumping forward and missing the tail end of the broom by half an inch. “Oi!” But the broom was already gone, and no one else dared risking their own broom to rescue Harry’s. 

With a crash and several cracks like the sound of breaking bones, the Nimbus 2001 hit the branches of the Whomping Willow and was no more. Harry turned to look at his teammates. All of them stared back at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. 

“And that was plain unlucky!” Benjamin added, ignoring the glare Harry sent his way. 

_XXX_

December 6th 1993. Hogwarts. 

Harry had learnt in first year that the best way to ensure that you were left alone was to make other people think you already had company. Draco was under the impression that Harry was studying with Theodore, and Theo thought Harry was with Hermione, and he had told Hermione he’d be staying in the common room with Draco that night, so none of them were looking for him. 

He made his way to the owlery in silence. Harry had two letters waiting to be sent off, one for Lucius accepting his offer of spending Yule at Malfoy Manor, and the other was for his father. Evan would receive the usual, ‘happy Yule time’ wishes but by letter this year, along with a shrunken gift (a sneakascope) on the off chance that it came in handy, and post scripted on the bottom of that letter was the name of anyone Remus Lupin had ever mentioned in passing as being his ‘friend’. Harry had assumed that meant ‘ally’, and Lord Voldemort would know if they were already taken care of or not. And if it turned out to be useless information, well, it wasn’t like Voldemort was sending _him_ anything anyway, so it didn’t matter. 

He tied Lucius’ letter to Hedwig’s leg. “It’s only a handful of days more until the end of term, and I’m spending the holidays there anyway. So unless Lucius wants to reply, don’t bother coming back to the school, girl.” The owl hooted at him, and Harry accepted that as an affirmative. He lifted his arm up, and Hedwig sunk her claws in for a moment and then pushed off, taking flight gracefully and with ease. Harry watched her, until she was little more than a white speck on the horizon and then he called to a school owl. 

“Take this to Albania,” he told the plain brown owl. Harry tied the tiny parcel on, the letter attached to the front and helped the creature launch into the air. 

When it was gone, two boys stepped in through the threshold to the owlery, identical smirks on their identical faces. “Who do you-” One began.

“Know in Albania?” The other finished. 

“Fred, George,” Harry greeted, nodding to the wrong twin at the wrong time, because honestly he couldn’t tell them apart and they knew that already. “Professor Quirrell finally made it to Albania during the past summer, and as we got on rather well in school we decided to keep up a correspondence. Ultimately, it annoys my aunt to have Wizard post arriving at her Muggle home, so I keep up a correspondence with as many magical folk as possible. Don’t you?”

Fred tilted his head to one side, his hair just a tad bit longer than George’s and it fell into his eyes. “Even Lockhart?” He grinned widely. 

“No,” Harry said blandly. “Not him. Anyone but him.” Although that was a lie, because the Lockhart the twins knew had actually been Lord Voldemort, and Harry had just sent off a message to him. “Why were you spying on me?”

“Spying?” “Us?” “On you?” They asked him in rapid succession. 

Harry rolled his eyes, but waited patiently until they felt like responding. They had been kind enough to him in his first year, and in second year they had made a valid effort to keep Ginny away from him, and even after the whole Parseltongue debacle they had continued to be friendly (but that was likely because they hadn’t been there and they didn’t really put much stock in gossip). They had never pranked him, but likely that was because Harry tended to glare viciously at anyone who so much snickered at a bad joke made at his expense, never mind what he’d do to someone who played a good joke on him! 

“Well, our dear,” “Heir of Slytherin, Prince,” “of all that is Dark and dank and unrighteous,” “we hear that a certain,” “ex-convict might just,” “be after your guts and garters.”

“That’s not the saying,” Harry interrupted. 

“Anyway,” Fred continued where he had finished off, “we would like,” “to offer you protection, the,” “only way we know,” “how. Marauder style!”

“What’s a Marauder?” Harry asked, even though he knew well. Remus had particularly enjoyed the stories of himself and his friends reigning over Hogwarts as the prankster kings. In the stories, Remus himself hadn’t done much, but Harry supposed that retelling the grandest, greatest, most extravagant stories probably made the memories more real for him. It probably meant that he could live within his fantasies and memories for that little bit longer than usual, and the smile would stay on his face for those few extra seconds. 

“Why!” George gasped. “Harry! Don’t you know?”

“They were only THE best pranksters at Hogwarts!”

“Ever!” George shouted, and he and Fred traded wild grins. “We have this map, that we…”

“Liberated?” Fred suggested. 

“Liberated, because after all an invention this genius should be uncaged and available to those in need, from Filch. We’d like to offer it to you.”

“For your protection.” Fred reached into his pocket and pulled it out. “It is our understanding,” George butted in, “from what our dear father had overheard in work,” “that Sirius Black will be out on parole this Christmas,” “and since everyone knows of his fascination with you,” “dearest Heir of Slytherin, Darkness, dankness, unrighteousness, etcetera,” “etcetera, etcetera, we are certain that Sirius Black,” “will come to Hogwarts.” 

Fred handed over the map. Harry glanced at it, and immediately tucked it into his pocket. It was late, and Theo would soon be back from the library and Draco would know they hadn’t been studying together at all and get into a sulk with him. If Draco got into a sulk, no one in their dorm would sleep well that night. Harry wanted to do his best to avoid that, and so he didn’t have time to listen to the twins’ explanations. He already knew how the map worked, or had worked back in Remus’ schooldays, and Harry would bet his right arm that not one of the Marauders had bothered to change the passwords after graduation. 

“Thank you very much.”

“Don’t you want to know how it works?” Fred asked, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. 

“I’m a Ravenclaw, I’m sure I’ll figure it out. Now, why don’t you both go back to… managing mischief?” Harry kept his face purposely blank as the boys’ eyes went wide at his choice of words. He didn’t respond to their questioning looks; instead, Harry turned his back to them and made his way slowly from the owlery. 

George shouted after him, “If you’re not staying in Hogwarts you might as well give it back! We need that, remember!”

Harry called back over his shoulder, pleased that the ginger twins couldn’t see the smirk playing over his lips, “oh yes, I’m _definitely_ staying at Hogwarts for Yule. I promise.” 

He kept two fingers crossed down by his thigh, and on the 19th of December Harry boarded the Hogwarts Express home. 

_XXX_

December 28th 1993. Malfoy Manor. 

Harry gathered his gifts carefully into his arms before standing up. Draco did likewise, both of them planning to horde their presents into their bedrooms for further perusal later. The traditional Yule festivities had taken the appropriate three days from start to finish, and this year it had been Narcissa’s turn to act as the gift giver, so Harry and Draco both had spent the past three days in a perpetual state of awkwardness. Draco’s mother, and the only mother-type-figure Harry had ever known, spent three days completely naked in the same room as them and her husband who kept making eyes at Harry. It was all very uncomfortably, and both teenagers had been desperate to open their presents before adult eyes, as was part of the Malfoy Yule tradition, and then escape from the room. 

When their gifts were gathered, Harry nodded at Narcissa, his face flushing again as she smiled back at him. He nodded at Lucius, ignoring the way the man continued to stare at him even as he made his way from the room and left Draco to say his goodbyes. 

Draco went straight to his bedroom, or Harry assumed he did because he didn’t come into Harry’s room and no one in their right mind would want to go into their parents’ room after the last three days of… naked mother-ness. Harry collapsed onto his bed or at least the bed that the Malfoys had nominated as ‘his’ the first time Harry had spent the night. The house elves just kept bringing him back to this room, and over the years Harry had gotten used to calling it his, just as Draco and Lucius had. His presents scattered across the duvet and Harry tugged up one at random. It was a book, sent by Theo even though the letter included his name and his brothers. 

Theodore had decided to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays to keep his brother company. Terrance Nott was a ward of the Ministry, a magical orphan basically, except there was nowhere to send those orphans and so where possible the Ministry appointed someone to find someone else to foster the child until they came of age. There had been the odd desperate time where the Ministry had just paid for a couple kids to sleep in one of the rooms at the Leaky Cauldron for a few weeks until someone had come forward to foster them. But Terrance appeared to be one of the lucky ones. There was already a family interested, and while the father was a Muggleborn, the mother was Pureblood and they had a son already who attended Durmstrang. The only problem was that they were considering taking Terrance out of Hogwarts if they managed to successfully adopt; if they were only allowed to foster, then it didn’t matter to them where the young boy went to school. 

Terrance wasn’t allowed to spend the holidays with a potential family, lest he ‘influence’ them in one way or the other, and Theo hadn’t wanted to leave his elder brother alone at Hogwarts. 

Harry read through the letter, having ignored it when he opened the gift and smiled softly. Terrance seemed much happier with Theodore around. Harry hoped the Bjorks, should they adopt, allowed Terrance to remain at school with his brother. The boy brushed his hair back off his face, resolving to get it cut sometime before he went back to school himself, and grabbed the next gift. It was strange and interesting looking, long, thin and silver and shaped like a Muggle lighter. 

It came with a note, which read: “ **I hear that Dementors suffer an uncommon attraction to you, child. I hope this gift comes in useful. With regards, your friend, TMR**.” 

Harry dropped the deluminator in shock. Voldemort had sent him a Christmas present, he thought with shock. Which could only mean that the list of names he had sent along had been useful, or that they hadn’t and Harry now owed Voldemort a real gift, which would be embarrassing and awkward and kind of suck a little. What did one buy the Dark Lord of the Wizarding World who had been disembodied some years ago? A body? Harry snorted at the thought. If bodies were so easy to come by, then Voldemort would have found himself a replacement years ago! Hopefully, he thought as he reached for the next letter in the pile, the list of names had come in handy. 

Before he could grab for it, his bedroom door opened. Lucius stood regally in the doorframe, a pale blond eyebrow arched until Harry invited him in. 

Lucius brushed his lips lightly against Harry’s own for a second before he sat beside the boy on the bed. “Happy Yule, love,” he whispered. Harry’s eyes widened. He tried to think if Lucius had ever used a pet name for him before, especially one such as that, and came up blank. Had he, hadn’t he; Harry couldn’t recall, but the word from Lucius’ mouth made his heart hammer in his chest and a flush crawl up his neck. 

“ _Accio_ ,” the blonde summoned with a flick of his wand. 

A broom flew in through the doorway that Lucius had purposely left open, and Harry gasped at the sight of it. “That’s a Firebolt!” He whispered, looking horridly excited. 

“You’re welcome, love.” An amused smirk played on Lucius’ mouth, and Harry’s eyes were drawn to the pink lips, slightly parted and moist. 

He licked his own lips, eyes wide and cheeks red, and breathed, “I meant thank you.” 

Lucius rolled his eyes, but leant forward again, allowing Harry to brush their lips together once more. He pulled away almost a second later, eyeing the blushing teenager fondly before reaching out to run his fingers through the messy, black hair. 

“I have something else for you.”

“What is it?” Harry asked, pursing his lips together as he bent to the side, trying to see if anything was hidden behind Lucius’ back. 

“How childish,” the elder Wizard chided lightly. “It is not a physical gift; I got you an expensive one of those already, remember? I have a story to tell you. Evan tells me you’re desperate to hear it.”

“About Sirius?” Harry asked softly. The Marauders Map was tucked into his trunk somewhere, hidden between two books and under a set of robes, just in case anyone went snooping. If he recalled correctly, that would have been Sirius’ copy of the map, confiscated by Filch when they were younger themselves. It was a brilliant piece of magic, and Harry wanted to take it apart and study it and recreate a version of his own, one that included Hogsmeade maybe, or the Chamber of Secrets, or one of the Ministry or Azkaban or Malfoy Manor. Imagine the possibilities! But it was also a part of his legacy, something that he should have inherited, like he had inherited the Invisibility Cloak and his gold and his untameable hair. But Filch had taken this copy, and then the twins had taken it, and who knew what had happened to James’ or Remus’ copy, or the fourth Marauder, the one Remus never named. He must have had a copy too, right? 

Harry was tempted to go searching for the map, to activate it and see whether Sirius really did go to Hogwarts for him, but there was no point. Harry had tested it the day he arrived at Malfoy Manor, and it didn’t appear to work outside of Hogwarts’ grounds. That was something else that Harry would like to research and improve upon. Imagine, no matter what side he was on, if he had a map capable of keeping track of everyone, everywhere, no matter where he was himself. He would always be safe. It was a lovely thought, but not a likely one. 

“Once upon a time,” Lucius began softly and Harry gave a loud snort of amusement which went ignored. “Four boys went to Hogwarts and became friends. Your real father was one of them. They were all rather horrid to Severus, you know, which is why he doesn’t like you much.”

“He doesn’t?” Harry asked, looking shell shocked. “And I thought we were going to get married.” He shot Lucius a droll look, rolling his eyes. 

Lucius ignored his sarcasm and continued. “When they grew up, one of them got married and had a son, you. Then the Dark Lord went looking for you, and for them, and the man hid with his family hoping to keep them safe, as I would have done too.” Lucius cupped Harry’s cheek, turning the boy’s face towards him. They stared at each other for a moment, watching each other’s face for any negative reaction so far. “One of their friends gave away their location, the secret to the place that they were hidden, and your parents were killed. Sirius Black went looking for that traitor. The traitor attacked him, killing thirteen Muggles in the process and faking his own death, and Sirius Black was sent to prison without a trial.”

“Sirius is innocent? He isn’t a Death Eater?” Harry folded his hands in his lap, allowing Lucius to continue to hold his chin even as he gazed away. He watched his fingers entwine with one another, watched his hands fold and close over each other and then open again, anything to avoid the look of pity on Lucius’ face. 

“Not to my knowledge, no. And yes, he was, very innocent. But it was a terrible time, Harry. Everything was chaos, timeless and all consuming, and no one was really concerned with what happened to anyone else. Even those who had remained un-accused were quick to sell out friends and neighbours in the hopes of looking good before the Ministry.”

“Then why does Voldemort want to free him?” 

“I,” Lucius sighed and glanced away, “can’t tell you that. To be honest, I’m not sure that I even know for certain. I have my suspicions of course, and I’ve done exactly as my Lord has instructed me to, and Evan has mentioned things here and there, but no one had outright told me what is to happen with Black. But I do know this, he is your family. He is actually your cousin on your father’s side, second or third cousin, but still blood. He is your Godfather, the one chosen to love and protect you, and yes he made a stupid mistake and tried to seek revenge without thinking of the consequences or of you, but he was honourable and brave if nothing else. And he loves you. I don’t know what our Lord wants with him, or with you, but I swear to you, love, Sirius Black would sooner die than harm you.” Lucius pressed their mouths together again, longer this time, harder. Harry poked his tongue out, trying to coax Lucius into responding, but as always Lucius kept their kiss closed-mouthed and innocent. 

“You don’t have to be afraid of him.” Lucius added after they broke away. 

“I wasn’t. I’m not,” Harry told him honestly. “I’m worried about what might happen if I decide I want to keep him. What Evan will think, or do, or say, if I decide to love him. I’m afraid of what Voldemort might do if Sirius wasn’t a Death Eater, and he’s not. And I’m glad you told me the truth, because apparently the truth is a hard thing to find in the media and in books, but now I’m even more worried than I was before. What do I do, Lucius,” Harry asked softly, green eyes brightened by tears, “if they give him back and I love him and then Voldemort takes him away again?”

“Don’t fall in love with him,” Lucius offered, swallowing heavily as he pulled Harry into a tight hug. “Love only me,” he added in a whisper. He knew what Harry had meant, of course, and Harry knew what Lucius was trying to do, and so he offered a fake smile and pretended that he felt better and pulled away from the hug with another whispered thanks. 

“Easier said than done,” he teased, insinuating that loving Lucius was hard. But learning to love anyone was hard to avoid, especially family that you had long been deprived of, and Harry didn’t think he actually had the strength to keep Sirius at a distance if the man really did want to be his family. Evan was his family, his only family until Hogwarts, and then Theo had arrived, and before that Draco had always sort of been there, and Lucius in a non-platonic way, and now Remus and Sirius were both trying to force their way into his life, there seemed something better about having a Godfather love him than a simple friend of the family. 

No offence to Remus, but he really wasn’t Harry’s cup of tea. Sirius though, Sirius might have potential. His own family had been Dark, or at least neutral, and _they_ were family too. If that didn’t sway him to Harry’s side (whichever side that may be, though worryingly he was leaning more towards the Dark than anything), then Sirius wasn’t worth the heartache. Or at least that’s what Harry told himself. 

**XXX**


	36. Chapter 35

**Words:** 2,275  
 **Chapter 35**  
January 2nd 1994. Hogwarts Express. 

The compartment was cold, and icicles were forming along the edges of the windows. Harry pushed himself out of his seat. Draco followed his lead, his wand held out threateningly as the door to their train compartment slid open. It was the lady who pushed the sweet trolley, and she smiled widely at the four of them before exclaiming, “We’re here, boys, time to get off the train.”

Theodore glanced around uneasily. Terrance peeked through the window, wiping away the condensation and the ice with the sleeve of his robe. “I could have sworn,” Draco began, mumbling angrily as he tucked his wand away. 

“Keep it out,” Harry ordered, his own wand falling easily into his grasp. They pulled their luggage down from the racks, and left them piled on the floor once they had stepped off of the train. The cold settled over them again, making all four boys shiver. Around them, other students trembled and their teeth chattered, and Harry sighed loudly as he spotted the cause of the extremely chilly weather. 

There was snow on the ground, crunching beneath their feet, and falling from the trees, and there were icicles hanging from the roof of the Hogwarts Express, but the mist and the chill that permeated the bones of every student present was a result of the Dementors. There were a group of them, clustered at the entrance to Hogsmeade, and as each Thestral-drawn carriage made its way from the train to Hogwarts it had to pass by the waiting creatures. 

Harry chose to travel alone, insisting his friends get into a compartment before him and then standing back as it began moving without him. He caught the next empty one, scaring away the first years that tried to follow him inside. It was for their benefit after all, Harry told himself, watching the Dementors nervously as they grew closer to him. As he passed them by, the carriage jerked wildly, as the Dementors swarmed over the Thestrals, shoving them out of the way so that they could glide closer to Harry. The teenager sat still and silent, eyeing the creatures warily, glancing at the clawed hands that pulled at his hair and his face and clothing. 

“Ours.” They groaned together. “Death. Ours. Us.”

The deluminator Voldemort had sent him for Yule was in his cloak pocket, but Harry let it be. It would have warded the Dementors away for a few minutes, but Harry didn’t want them to leave. He wanted to see what would happen; would it be like the last time, where they merely tried to touch him, or would they go further this time, attempt to kiss him perhaps or take him with them? 

One hand pawed at Harry’s scar, ruffling the hair that covered it. It drew away with a scream, a doe Patronus butting angrily at its side, herding the creature and its brothers away from Harry. The dark haired boy glanced up. Professor Snape had apparated onto the train station, which was outside of the anti-apparation wards, and cast the _Patronus_ a second time. He cast something at the Thestrals, and Harry gasped as they began to run. He glanced over his shoulder at the cluster of Dementors that stared after him but didn’t dare to follow. He could still feel their bony fingers on his skin, their cold breath on his face, but he wasn’t afraid. They hadn’t been planning to hurt him, Harry knew. And he also knew that he was right. The Dementors could sense he was a Horcrux. 

_XXX_

January 6th 1994. 

“Harry,” Remus called as the boy was about to slip out of the Defence classroom. 

Harry looked up from the piece of parchment he had been reading and stopped walking. He turned back to face his professor and smiled softly, “yes?”

“Stay behind for a moment, please, Harry.” Remus turned to talk to another student and Harry glanced back down at the dot that marked ‘Lucius Malfoy’ wandering the halls of Hogwarts. 

“Mischief managed,” he murmured, tucking the map into his trouser pocket out of sight. “What is it you wanted, professor?” Harry asked once they were alone. 

“I heard about the situation with the Dementors. They’re behaviour is starting to become worrying, Harry. I spoke briefly with the Headmaster and he believes, as do I, that something must be done to protect you, or,” he paused and ran a hand nervously through his hair, “to enable you to protect yourself.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked curiously. He wasn’t in danger from the Dementors, though he didn’t feel like explaining why that was, so he widened his eyes and tried to appear afraid. Like they all thought he was supposed to be. 

“How would you feel about extra lessons? I was thinking perhaps every Thursday after class, and I would teach you the _Patronus Charm_. It repels Dementors. You probably saw professor Snape using it, didn’t you?” Remus smiled warmly, pleased at the opportunity to spend more time with the boy who seemed so unwilling to spend time with James Potter’s friend. 

“I saw. It appeared to be a rather handy spell to have in one’s repertoire. I accept your offer, professor Lupin. See you this Thursday.” He smiled and nodded once, before turning away from the werewolf. 

He tried not to think about the man as much as possible, but Hermione was still continuing on with her assumption that because Remus was a werewolf someone must be notified. Obviously Dumbledore knew he was a werewolf, the man had been a student here as a werewolf too, and it was sort of hard to hide his disappearing act three nights a week once a month after all. But Hermione wouldn’t be persuaded, and so Harry had taken to avoiding her again. He pulled the map out of his pocket again and whispered, “I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” and grinned widely as ‘Lucius Malfoy’ continued to pace the hall. 

Harry took off in the direction of the Slytherin common room, hoping to intercept Lucius’ visit to his son. He hoped to perhaps convince the man that snogging in an unused classroom would be more prudent than whatever business he had at Hogwarts was. A wide smile crossed his lips, because if Lucius was heading away from the Headmaster’s office he must have already finished his duties and would have no other reason to refuse to abscond with Harry for a few minutes—or slightly more, if Harry could keep the blonde sufficiently distracted for that long. 

Which he could, he told himself, tucking the map away just as Lucius came into sight. 

“Harry!” The man gasped, surprised to see him appear so suddenly around the corner. 

“Hello, Lucius.” Harry whispered, reaching out to grab the man’s hand. 

“Hello, beloved,” Lucius answered, pulling Harry in for a kiss. 

_XXX_

January 15th 1994. Quidditch Pitch. 

The Dementors had terrible timing, Harry thought angrily to himself as they appeared over the Quidditch pitch, circling the area like strange, malignant storm clouds. The Slytherins and Ravenclaws on the Quidditch teams shuddered, each of them angling their brooms closer to the ground, forgetting about the game in an attempt to escape the Dementors’ notice.

They came lower without warning, circling Harry. They reached out to him, almost pulling him off of his broom at one point, before Harry managed to right himself in time to save himself from a terrible, horrible fall.

“Come.” One whispered. 

“Summoned to the Ministry.”

“Sirius Black summons Ours.” 

They hissed around him, sibilant and hoarse sounding and Harry thought that this change in their demeanour compared to how they were when he had first encountered them on the train meant they were excited. They had found someone like them, someone who revelled in death and the tearing of a soul by all appearances, and they were excited by that fact. 

“I will come to the Ministry. When should I come?” Harry questioned, even as his eyes darted around for the Snitch. 

“Now. Come now, Ours.” One Dementor grabbed his arm tightly and pulled. Harry slipped off of his broom, but another Dementor was there, gripping his other arm and keeping the teenager suspended a hundred feet in the air. 

Harry swallowed heavily, glancing down at his falling broom and the clouds that mostly blocked him from view. “Don’t drop me.”

“One of Us. Ours.” They hissed at him. “Never.” They held him tightly, all of them circling him just in case their brothers’ grip slipped and they would be close enough to catch and hold the boy. They would bring him to the Ministry safe, because he called to them, to something deep within them. Something dark stirred within them at this boys’ presence, and each of them thought back to the last war and to the Dark Lord that had commanded them fearlessly and who they had followed with pride. “Ours,” they hissed again, talking about the Dark Lord this time, but Harry didn’t know that. He glanced at them and nodded in agreement, still thinking (and being partially right) that they meant his Horcrux. 

The Firebolt fell, and purely by instinct Draco reached out and caught the falling object as it passed him by. The broom impacting against his hand made it ache, but his chest hurt more when he realized that it was Harry’s broom and that Harry hadn’t followed it out of the sky. He was worried, as were the rest of the Quidditch players so all appeared to have forgotten about the match, and Draco glanced down at the stand, at the vague shape that was his father and his godfather and the Polyjuiced figure of Evan Rosier and he hoped that Harry was ok. But then the Snitch fluttered in front of his face, almost daring him to let it pass by. 

And because he was a Slytherin first and foremost, Draco let go of his own broom and caught the golden Snitch. 

Slytherin won, 200 to 120. 

_XXX_

February 3rd 1994. Gryffindor Tower. 

The third year boys had gathered around the bed of Seamus Finnegan. His dad was a Muggle, but his mother worked in the Ministry law division. She had spent a lot of time with Harry lately, Seamus told his dorm mates. And contrary to popular belief and even what the papers were saying, Harry hadn’t actually met Sirius yet. He went to the Ministry a lot, but Seamus’ mum had told him that sometimes the Dementors just brought him because they could. Sometimes no one had even asked to see Harry, but he would appear, with a flock of Dementors around him, and spend the rest of his even being question and checked by medi-Wizards and briefed on the eventual trial of Sirius Black. 

“That’s a bit strange, isn’t it?” Dean Thomas, a Muggleborn, asked. 

“Yeah but you’ve all seen the weird way those creatures are around Potter. It’s almost like they like him, you know!” Ron muttered. He had never quiet given up on being Harry’s friend, because Harry was famous and rich and handsome and overall a nice guy, whereas Ron was just average and poor and unnoticeable. Being Harry’s friend brought fame and attention and Ron wanted nothing more in life than to be better and more successful than his elder brothers. And what would be the easiest way to do that, than by riding on the coattails of the Boy-Who-Lived. But Harry didn’t seem to think they’d make a good team, preferring those no good Death Eater brats to him, and that blasted annoying Granger girl too. “I bet those Slytherins had something to do with it,” Ron hissed. 

“What?” Neville gasped. He was a quiet boy, and the rest of his dorm mates tended to forget he was even in the room until he spoke. “How is it their fault?”

“I don’t know! But it is!” Ron told them unintelligently. 

“Anyway!” Seamus butted in, steering the attention back onto himself. “They’ve finally released Black on parole. Someone paid his bail, and well Mum wasn’t sure who but there are rumours in the Ministry that it was Malfoy. That’s why he was here last month, to talk to the Headmaster about Black visiting Potter. According to mum they’ve scheduled a visit for the fifth.”

“That’s two days away!” Dean exclaimed, looking worried. 

“Good thing he isn’t in Gryffindor, huh? Black doesn’t have a reason to come here, does he?” Neville question, his voice and hands shaking. 

“Nah course he doesn’t. What would Black want in the Gryffindor Tower when Potter is on the other side of the castle?” Ron gave an inelegant snort at the idea of the infamous Black getting lost in Hogwarts and ending up at their dorm. He shared his mental imagery with his friends, and the others giggled and laughed along with him. But unknown to them all, Scabbers the rat used the paw with one finger missing to push open the door of his cage. The rat jumped onto the bedding, and then slid down onto the floor, and then scarpered. The four Gryffindors never noticed Ron’s pet rat escape the room.

In the Ravenclaw common room, Harry glanced down at his map, examining which names were moving where and who with. His eyebrows drew together as a name he had never seen before appeared on the map, in the third year Gryffindor boys’ dormitory of all places, before leaving the Tower and heading outside. Once the dot reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest, ‘Peter Pettigrew’ disappeared off the map. 

**XXX**


	37. Chapter 36

**Words:** 3,441  
 **Chapter 36**  
February 5th 1994. Quidditch Pitch. 

Ravenclaw and Gryffindor were playing. For once the Dementors were nowhere in sight, the sky was a bright shade of blue and the winter sun beat down on the audience scattered through the stands. Evan hadn’t been able to make this game, but Lucius sat between his son and his son’s dorm-mates watching Harry dive towards the snitch. 

Screams and gasps rang out across the pitch, but the players were too high up to hear them. Lucius looked around, his face calm, even as he pulled his wand free from its holster. Theodore and Terrence were huddled together, watching with wide eyes as Sirius Black followed four Aurors into the Slytherin stand. Lucius shifted sideways to make room for his cousin-in-law, pushing Draco further down the bench, and the Aurors waited silently, standing at the back of the nervous crowd of children and adults. 

“Black,” Lucius greeted with a nod of his head and a low voice. 

“Malfoy,” Sirius said, offering a small smile. “Is Harry playing? I don’t see him.”

“He’s there,” Lucius told him, pointing at the slight boy in the blue and bronze robes. 

“Oh.” He spoke slowly and loudly, blinking his eyes a few times, and Lucius got the impression that the man had forgotten what House Harry was in. “I forgot he was a ‘Claw,” Sirius murmured a moment later, confirming Lucius’ thoughts. “Would have thought he’d be a Gryf like his parents, strange that.”

“Strange,” Lucius said non-committaly, secretly thinking it would have been strange to have Harry in Gryffindor considering his father was Evan Rosier. But he’d let Sirius have his idle fantasies. “So, you are free?” Lucius begun, trying to strike up a conversation. 

Sirius’ eyes were on Harry, and Draco held his hand out, offering his pair of Omnioculars. Sirius took them, offering his cousin a small smile. He held them to his face, answering Lucius without looking at him, and stared as his godson swept across the sky, chasing the golden snitch. “Oh, I’m on parole. The Aurors are armed and dangerous, or so they say. I get to spend the day with Harry though, which should be awesome. Haven’t seen Harry in years,” he said, trailing off wistfully. 

“More like a decade,” Theodore muttered to his brother. Draco snorted softly, nudging his friend with his elbow. “What? It’s true!” 

“So it is,” Sirius whispered, turning his head to look at the pale, dark haired boy. Sirius’ hair fell in loose curls to his chin, his fringe brushing the bottoms of his eyebrows, and grey eyes narrowed as pale lips frowned. “Shame that, eh?” He grinned widely then, looking gaunt and pale, and nothing his fancy clothes or new haircut did would ever hide the fact that he hadn’t seen the sun in twelve years. 

When Harry’s fingers closed over the snitch, Sirius cheered the loudest. He jumped to his feet, and behind him the Aurors pulled out their wands in suspicion, but Sirius only clapped and whistled, screaming, “that’s my godson!” at anyone who looked his way. Lucius clapped slowly, rolling his eyes at his cousin’s behaviour and imagining his Lord or Evan’s reaction to the show Sirius was making of himself. 

It caught Harry’s attention though. He was about to leave the pitch, following his team mates to the changing room, but he turned around and his eyes instantly landed on the tall man who was waving his arms frantically in the air. Across the pitch, the Weasley twins stopped and stared. Simultaneously, they both turned to Harry and shouted, “Oi! Don’t even think about replacing us!”

“We’re your only crazy, older friends.”

“You got that Potter?” 

Harry gave a slow nod, eyes moving back towards Sirius. His heart was beating heavily in his chest and it was becoming difficult to swallow. He had known Sirius would visit today, but he had assumed it would be later, a quick evening visit before curfew that Harry would need to cut short so as to avoid losing house points and spending awkward minutes with his innocently incarcerated godfather. The fears were still there, and Harry hated himself for being so afraid. Either he loved his godfather or he didn’t, and Sirius either accepted him as he was or he didn’t; whatever happens happens, and worrying about the outcome wasn’t helping anything. Harry scolded himself silently, finally offering Sirius a small wave, and then he ran after his team-mates, wanting to get out of sight. 

_XXX_

It was later that night, almost eight in fact, and the students were filing into the great hall to await their dinner. Sirius and Harry had spent the day together, from Harry emerging from the changing room to find Sirius waiting until now where Sirius was walking Harry towards the hall, the team of Aurors following silently behind them. 

“Well kid,” Sirius said, wringing his hands in front of his stomach. 

It had been a little awkward, but of course it had. Sirius had been expecting a carbon copy of James Potter, and instead he had found Lily’s eyes and Lily’s brain, and a dry sense of humour and calm serious that was more suited to a Slytherin than a Potter. Harry seemed like a wonderful kid, and Sirius was glad of the chance to know him, and so very grateful for whatever reason Lucius Malfoy had decided to spring him from Azkaban. But he just wasn’t what Sirius had been expecting, and several times Sirius had forgotten the boy wasn’t a Gryffindor and put his foot in it, or insulted a Slytherin forgetting they were Harry’s friends. 

Harry had borne most of it calmly, clenching his jaw or his fists at all of Sirius’ well-intended jokes at his friends’ expenses or the insults to his own house. He had kept his temper, and what counted most was that he actually liked Sirius. When the man wasn’t being a thoughtless, insulting moron, he was actually funny and kind and interesting. Harry had thought it strange, having Remus Lupin force stories of the Marauder days down his throat during their anti-Dementor lessons and even during Defence Against the Dark Arts, but when Sirius spoke about his father, Harry wanted to hear more. Maybe it was because Sirius was actually family, and he had a right therefore to speak about Harry’s family to him, while Remus was just a friend. Or maybe it was because despite all of Harry’s fears over the situation, he really did want Sirius to like him. Being nice to Sirius, and apparently listening to all of the man’s stories, would go a long way to making the Gryffindor like him. 

“This is where I leave you,” Sirius said, pulling the boy into a quick hug. “Maybe we can do this again sometime?”

“Yes,” Harry agreed immediately. He jumped slightly, as if the words had taken him by surprise, and honestly he was shocked that he had agreed so quickly. “I’d like to do this again. Hogsmeade weekend is on the twelfth, if you want to meet there? Are you allowed to meet outside of the school?” Harry furrowed his brows. 

“I don’t even know if I’m allowed to leave the Ministry before the trial! I might be on parole, but to the shower of wankers running the government that means locking me in a holding cell instead of my usual Azkaban cell.”

“Charming,” Harry drawled, frowning at the dark look on Sirius’ face. He looked like he would happily stab a couple of people, and Harry wondered if the man ever might be convinced to give into that darker side of himself. But then he pushed the thought away. It was the same as worrying about whether he would join Voldemort or not; pointless worrying, that didn’t solve anything, and could be focused upon at a later time. 

“Well kiddo,” Sirius said with a smile, offering another hug, “if they let you escape the castle, come visit me instead.” Harry left after agreeing, and just as the doors to the hall closed behind him, Peeves floated into sight. Sirius smiled up at him, his hand clenching on the note that Lucius Malfoy had slipped him during the Quidditch match, hidden in his pocket, and reminding him exactly why the Ministry had let him come to Hogwarts. Malfoy had made them. Malfoy wanted something from him. It hadn’t been about seeing his godson for the first time since the boy was one. 

Peeves attacked the Aurors, laughing and throwing things as the Wizards attempted to fight off the poltergeist, but Sirius knew from experience that the only two who could win against Peeves were Dumbledore or the Bloody Baron. Both would stay inside of the great hall until at least nine. 

While the Aurors were distracted, Sirius ducked out of sight, escaping down the hallway towards Filch’s office. Harry wasn’t the only one with a Marauders Map, because after all they had made four of them, and Filch had confiscated three. Surely, one more must have remained unstolen by a curious student, Sirius thought as he ran. His plan depended on it, he told himself as he jiggled the doorknob and slipped inside. 

And as he found what he was looking for, he unfolded the parchment and whispered, “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.” 

It was time to find Peter Pettigrew. 

_XXX_

February 10th 1994. 

It was their sixth anti-Dementor lesson, and the more Harry succeeded with the _Patronus Charm_ the less the Boggart looked like a Dementor. 

“It is your fear of them,” Remus whispered. “If you fear a Dementor, the Boggart will look like a Dementor. But now that you can fend one off, now that you can defend yourself and have no reason to fear a Dementor, the Boggart will change into something else you fear.” Remus clapped him on the back, looking like a proud parents as Harry’s Patronus pranced by his side. It was silvery white, shining faintly and pulsing with magic, and the gradually shifting Boggart was backing its way into its cupboard slowly. He would jump out again soon, and Harry wondered what it would look like. According to Remus it wouldn’t be a Dementor now that he had succeeded, but then Harry had never been afraid of the Dementors so why had the Boggart chosen that shape in the first place? Was there a way to force them to look like something in particular, Harry wondered. 

The Patronus turned towards Harry, as if asking if there was still a reason for it to remain. Harry admired it for a moment, taking in the shape and size of it, its distinctive features, the antenna on its head that quivered as it waited and the patches of fur that seemed to be a deeper white than the rest of it. The Caterpillar disappeared as Harry waved his wand. From the way Remus had spoken about his father and their animagus forms, he had probably assumed that Harry’s Patronus would be a stag. But Evan, it appeared, had been right once more. Harry really was a caterpillar. 

The Boggart leapt from the cupboard again. The Dementor stretched its arms out, its face covered but it wailed, sounding nothing like the real creatures did, and Harry raised his eyebrow at Remus Lupin. 

“Uh,” the man said unintelligibly. “Well, perhaps you are more afraid than you thought?” Harry just continued to stare. Remus’ wand flicked behind his back, subtly but Harry still caught the movement. “Or perhaps you simply fear nothing but fear itself?” 

“And fear itself fears nothing but Chuck Norris,” Harry drawled with a roll of his eyes. Remus had flicked his wand again, and the Boggart had shifted again, changing shape briefly before becoming a Dementor again. It was settled, Harry thought, as he picked up his bag. Remus had a way to make the Boggart take shape. He wondered briefly, what his true greatest fear was, though silently he thanked Remus for not allowing that fear to be known. Knowing Harry’s terrible luck, it would be his uncle, and wouldn’t that be suspicious. 

“Did you hear about Sirius Black?” Remus called as Harry slipped out of the door. He was making an attempt to call Harry back for tea, and Harry was used to the efforts Remus went through to spend time with him by now that the boy merely called over his shoulder without waiting. 

“I heard.” Though, honestly, he had no idea what Remus was talking about. One of his friends would know though. 

“Apparently Sirius Black broke into Gryffindor Tower!” Draco said excitedly. 

“He ripped up the painting of the Fat Lady.” Theo added with a wide grin on his face. 

“I don’t know,” Terrence said looking sceptical. “I heard that when the Aurors went looking for him, they found him waiting calmly by the Portkey. They can’t prove it was him.”

“The portrait said it was!”

“You’d believe a painting over a man that’s about to be freed from prison? Obviously Black won’t do anything to send himself back!” And so Theodore and Terrence began to argue, and Harry watched them, thinking of the school owl that had delivered him a blank piece of parchment the night Sirius had left the school. He had left it in his trunk, not thinking much of it other than that it might have been a hidden message from Lord Voldemort, and it had since slipped his mind. But now, now Harry wondered if perhaps it had been from Sirius instead? 

He might have been wrong, but he was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, there was more than one Marauders Map. Remus hadn’t said either way, but Harry had always assumed that they shared between the four of them. “I have to go! Not hungry!” Harry called, jumping up from the Slytherin table and jogging from the hall before anyone could stop him. He wanted to check his theory, and he wanted to see if Peter Pettigrew’s name appeared again. Who he was, Harry didn’t know, but he had left Gryffindor Tower two days before Sirius had broken in. 

Something strange was going on. 

_XXX_

February 12th 1994. Hogsmeade. 

Sirius hadn’t been allowed to visit Hogwarts again. He had sent Harry a letter that morning, delivered by a Dementor who actually had the gall to float into the great hall and drop the note onto Harry’s breakfast. Hermione had finally let the issue of Remus maybe being a werewolf drop and so Harry had been having breakfast with her. Now, he was walking through Hogsmeade with her, because she was a Gryffindor, and he needed a favour. 

“Hey Hermione,” Harry started, pausing to think back on what Sirius’ letter had said. They were short on evidence. They needed to find the man who had framed Sirius for murder to prove that Sirius hadn’t been the Secret keeper for the Potters’. No one seemed to care whether Sirius had or hadn’t killed those Muggles, no one seemed to want proof either way, but they did want to find someone called Peter Pettigrew. Peter had been a Marauder, his father’s friend, the Secret keeper who betrayed them to Voldemort. 

Peter Pettigrew had been hiding in Gryffindor Tower as Ron’s pet rat. Harry had seen him slip into the Forbidden Forest on the map and thought nothing of it. 

“Hey Hermione,” Harry started again. “Could you do me a favour? I’ve been sort of cruel to Ron, and I know that, and I feel really guilty about it. I was thinking of doing something nice for him, and I know he’s always going on about how much he hates Scabbers, so, well, Draco mentioned something about a Pet Spa in France and I was going to look into it. The only problem is I need to send photos and details about the pet, so I’d need to get hold of Scabbers. Only, I don’t want Ron to know yet, in case it doesn’t work out, so… could you, maybe, bring me Scabbers?” Harry didn’t think he had ever spoken so fast in his life. It was the most unrealistic excuse he had ever come out with, but it was better than the truth, and he knew he had to say it fast or he’d never be able to pull it off. 

Hermione glanced at him, looking a little cautious and a little sad. For a moment Harry thought she might cry, but then she narrowed her eyes at him and frowned. “If you’re thinking of pranking Ron’s rat you might as well forget about it, Harry Potter!” She glared at him, and Harry knew she hadn’t believed him at all. 

“I wasn’t, I wasn’t,” he insisted anyway. 

“It doesn’t matter of course. Ron isn’t speaking to me right now, not that he ever was you understand, but well, Crookshanks, my cat, well he ate Ron’s rat. So whatever you were planning to do you might as well forget about it. There is no rat. Not now.” Now there really was tears in her eyes, but Harry didn’t acknowledge them because he didn’t think she’d appreciate it, and so he turned his face away looking a little upset himself until Hermione had composed herself. 

“Butterbeer?” He asked, once she had stopped sniffling. 

“Sure,” she had agreed, red eyes brightening as she wiped the tears from them. 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck_ , Harry thought as he followed her into the Three Broomsticks. Pettigrew hadn’t been eaten, but the map didn’t cover the forest so how the hell was he meant to find the traitorous rat? 

Fuck. 

_XXX_

April 3rd 1994. Forbidden Forest. 

The Easter holidays were upon them. Most of the students had gone home for the two week break, but Harry didn’t have time this year to celebrate Ishtar1. He had spent the end of February scouring the Forest and the area surrounding Hogsmeade hoping to stumble upon Pettigrew, and at last he thought he might have finally been successful. He knew he wouldn’t be able to capture the Death Eater alone though, and so he had wrote to Lord Voldemort, requesting Evan’s aide. 

“Hello, my son,” Evan breathed into his ear as he snuck up behind the boy. Harry turned in his arms, wrapping his own around Evan’s neck, and hugged him tightly. “I have missed you too, Caen.”

“Hello,” Harry whispered, pulling back and offering up a wide smile. 

“We have work to do,” Evan said calmly, pulling out of the embrace completely. He kept his hand on Harry’s shoulder though, as the boy led him further into the forest and asked him to apparate them to Hogsmeade. 

“There’s a cave just outside of the town. Some of the people living there told me that food and newspapers keep disappearing and that they can hear someone moving around near the cave. I checked, father, but no one lives nearby, there doesn’t appear to be any animal dens large enough to make that kind of attention drawing noise, and it’s not exactly a hospitable area.”

“So, either a dragon has hatched and is hiding in this cave, or the rat has gone back to his roots.”

“Well, if you spend too long in your animagus form you start to pick up the creature’s traits.” Harry offered a smile, “such as foraging, scurrying, hiding, squeaking, you know, all of those really annoying rat-habits.” 

“Being a disgusting, worthless waste of flesh?” Evan offered, reaching out his arm. Harry clung to it, focusing on Evan and Evan alone, and then with the feeling of being squeezed through a tube, they both disappeared from the Forbidden Forest. They reappeared in front of a dank looking cave. Newspapers and food wrappers were scattered across the floor, there was a sock by the entrance, and the stink of urine filled the air. It was apparent that someone human really was living there. 

“Well?” Harry asked. 

“Well done, child. Let us gather our ‘evidence’ and leave.” Evan led the way into the cave. 

“Are you going to cast the Dark Mark?” Harry asked curiously, listening for breathing other than their own. “Cause that might be cool.”

“No.” Evan told them, throwing him a sideways glance. Harry rolled his eyes, a little annoyed that Evan hadn’t just gone along with his joke, because at the mention of the Dark Mark someone deep within the cave had gasped.

“I’m sure our Lord would appreciate the gesture, Rosier,” Harry added, smirking widely at the suddenly stronger stench of piss that flooded the cave. Peter Pettigrew was scared. 

And so he should be. 

**XXX**

1 – Ishtar, the pagan name for Easter. It’s celebrated on the first Sunday after the first full moon after the spring equinox, and is in honour of the ‘son’ of the Sun god, Baal, and Ishtar his mother who claimed that she was a goddess with the help of Satan the deceiver. Pig was to be eaten on the Sunday only, as the pig killed the son of god, Tammunz, but no other meat could be touched, and rabbits and eggs were used to celebrate as well. Random, I know.


	38. Chapter 37

**Words:** 4,026  
 **Chapter 37**  
April 16th 1994. Ministry of Magic. 

The Ministry was quieter than Harry had thought it would be. A handful of employees stopped to stare at him as he passed by, there were two journalists waiting outside of the courtroom for him, but aside from that Harry didn’t see anyone around. It must have been the quietest the Ministry had ever been! Upon opening the doors to Courtroom Ten, Harry suddenly understood why the building was so empty. It looked as if over half of the British Wizarding population had squeezed their way inside of the courtroom, huddled and bundles on top of each other, pointing and gasping as Harry walking inside to take his seat in the witness stand, and then again as Sirius Black was escorted onto the dock. 

Draco waited in the crowd, with his parents and Evan. Harry didn’t recognize any of the other endless faces in the crowd, well, except for Severus and Remus. They waited in the front pew, and despite having already been called to give evidence, they were still silent and attentive, a far cry from the disruptive audience. 

“Order!” Amelia Bones cried. She was seated next to Minister Fudge with Kingsley Shacklebolt on her other side. Harry vaguely recognized the dark skinned man as having been one of the two Aurors to let a troll loose in Hogwarts in his first year. He wondered who this man was, how important he was, and whether he would be here to keep Harry away from Sirius or to see justice met. 

Sirius looked as gaunt and pale as he did the last time they had met, the only other time they had met, but he smiled widely as he caught his godson’s eyes. 

“Harry James Potter, please rise,” Bones ordered. She stood as well, staring down over her bench at the teenager who shook nervously under her gaze. “Let’s proceed.”

“Who is this man?” Fudge interrupted, pointing to the other side of the courtroom, to a figure Harry hadn’t noticed. 

Peter was cowering in his chair, guarded on either side by a Dementor. One floated towards Harry, stopping directly in front of where Harry was seated before reaching out to cup the child’s face. He turned Harry’s head towards his covered face and whispered, “Ours? Danger? Them?”

“He’s the only one in danger here,” Harry murmured back, nodding his head at the portly man who still wore his piss-stained trousers, with an Azkaban robe thrown over the top. He turned back to Amelia Bones, ignoring the fact that Fudge had spoken. “He is Peter Pettigrew, former friend of my father’s and the Secret Keeper to the house at Godric’s Hollow.” 

“Yes,” Kingsley whispered, remembering the man from the old Order meetings, from before the Potters’ had died. “Yes, he is.” Bones nodded her head, once at Harry and once at her colleague, and then turned back to Peter. 

He wasn’t made to move seats, even though Harry was escorted to the front pew to sit beside Remus and Snape. Instead, the Dementor that had remained beside him floated to the left, allowing Peter to focus himself as Bones and Fudge questioned him. The other Dementor was hovering beside Harry and those sitting behind him and beside him tried desperately to shift out of the way. Severus’ hands shook and his knuckles were pure white, but he stubbornly refused to allow Remus to push him sideways. He was determined to be close enough to defend Lily’s son if need be, the way he always had before. Black eyes darted back and forth between the Dementor and the teenager, but Harry neither looked afraid or cautious, and the Dementor appeared to be anything but threatening. He turned away then, glancing back at the spineless coward who had helped Voldemort kill the only woman he had ever loved. Pettigrew, of all people. Pettigrew. Severus hadn’t thought the man had it in him. 

“Did you, or did you not, betray Lily and James Potter to the Dark Lord, he-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?” Fudge asked, jaw clenching at the thought of having to mention Voldemort by name. But the _Veritaserum_ had always worked before when they had used Voldemort’s moniker’s, so there was no reason to believe that it wouldn’t now. 

“No. I did not betray.” Came Peter’s monotone response, two minutes after an Auror forced three drops of the potion onto his tongue, and thirty seconds after the question was asked. 

The entire courtroom gasped. Sirius looked ready to shuck off his restraints and strangle Peter with his bare hands. Harry’s eyes narrowed. Correctly, Peter hadn’t betrayed his parents. You could only betray the one you side with, and his parents hadn’t been that side. If anything, he had inadvertently betrayed Voldemort, as his Secret led to Voldemort’s temporary death. Kingsley seemed to be having similar thoughts, because his forehead was creased and he was gazing calculatingly at the gormless prisoner. 

“Did you tell Lord Voldemort the Secret?”1 He asked, his voice loud and echoing, and it pulled more horrified gasps from those in the audience. 

“Yes.” It was simple, clear and everyone heard it. 

“Did you accompany Lord Voldemort to Godric’s Hollow on the 31st October 1981?” Kingsley continued. 

“No.”

“Why not?” Peter didn’t answer. “Did you wait somewhere else?”

“Yes.” 

“Once He disappeared, did you see anybody?”

“Yes.”

“Was that somebody Sirius Black?”

“Yes.” 

“Did you kill thirteen people and frame Sirius Black for their deaths?” Sirius leant forward, handing off the edge of his seat as he waited for the response. The shackles dug into his wrists from the added distance, but he didn’t care. He needed to hear what Peter said, even though he already knew the truth. 

“No.” Peter paused, a frown coming over his mouth. “And yes.”

“No? To the first or the second?”

“First.”

“So you did frame Sirius Black?” 

“Yes.” Peter had begun blinking, his forehead creasing and his lips twitching between a frown and a smile at a rapid pace. The _Veritaserum_ was wearing off. Amelia held her hand up as the Auror approached with the potion vial, and he stepped back into the crowd, allowing the questioning to come to an end. 

“Why do you deny killing thirteen people?” With the potion wearing off it wasn’t as effective as it had been earlier. At full strength the potion was a tricky thing, questions had to be straightforward, preferably with one word answers, or the accused wouldn’t be able to speak at all. But at its weakest, as it was now, Peter wouldn’t have been able to resist telling them everything they wanted to know, every little detail would spill forth against his will, damning him and liberating Sirius, and that man had been a good friend to Kingsley once. 

“They weren’t people. They were Muggles. Scum, filth, waste, worthless, disgusting, useless, filth, wasteful, horrible, disgusting, vermin, scum,” Peter continued to mutter to himself. Shocked at the vehemence of the response, Kingsley refrained from asking anything else. 

“But you did kill them?” Fudge asked, just to be sure.

Peter turned his head towards the Minister, a grin on his lips, “I did. I did.” He grinned wider as his eyes fell on Sirius, who was practically snarling in his seat. “And I got away with it too.”

Amelia waved her hand again, and both Dementors swept towards Peter. “Take him back to the holding cell. We will deliberate on his sentence and then call him back. Sirius Black,” she said then, turning away from the once more terrified ex-Gryffindor and towards the man they had falsely imprisoned. “You are hereby exonerated. The Ministry apologized for the crime commited against you, the injustice and irrevocable loss you have suffered, and in the hopes of making amends, we grant you your title of Lord Black, of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, remove all evidence of a criminal record having existed in your name, and offer you compensation reflecting the suffering entailed during your years in Azkaban.”

“A hundred Galleons per year in Azkaban,” Sirius snorted after the Minister and the Wizengamot had filed out of the room. Dumbledore hadn’t looked once at him during the trial, but Sirius shook off the uneasy feeling, and pulled his godson into a quick hug. 

Lucius and Evan had disappeared somewhere. Draco was waiting with his mother, decked out in his Slytherin Quidditch robes, and was glancing around uneasily. 

“Harry, I, well,” Sirius trailed off, rubbing nervously at the back of his neck. Malfoy had told him his freedom was contingent on this, not that Sirius wouldn’t have offered anyway. Harry was his godson, after all. But if he didn’t offer, Malfoy saw no point in him walking free. Sirius snorted again, feeling stupid for thinking that anyone would help him out of the goodness of their hearts, especially a Slytherin. Whatever Lucius Malfoy was up to wouldn’t bode well, but at least he got Harry and his freedom for as long as they lasted. 

“Come live with me!” Sirius burst out. 

He said the words so fast that Harry didn’t actually catch them, but then Narcissa was standing beside him, holding out a roll of parchment with a small smile on her face. 

“Cousin. Harry.” She greeted them both calmly and waited. 

Harry unrolled the parchment, eyes widening as he skim read over the adoption papers. He noted with amusement that they referred to the magical world only, so while Sirius would be his father until he turned twenty-one in the Wizarding World, Evan would continue to be his father during the summers, when he was forced to live in the Muggle world. Harry almost refused to sign the parchment. He hardly knew Sirius. The man might have been family, but they had met one time, not including during the trial, and the man was on the opposite side of Lord Voldemort. But then he saw the signature, scrawled on a dotted line in the bottom left corner: Vernon Dursley. Beside it, beside the words ‘in witness’ was Lucius’ signature. Narcissa’s was in the bottom right hand corner, below the empty line that was meant for Sirius to sign. 

So this was why Death Eaters had freed Sirius Black. There were no nefarious plans. Sirius wasn’t a Death Eater and Lucius hadn’t turned traitor (not that Harry had ever considered that, but it had been speculated about in the papers). 

Evan had been trying to find him somewhere to live. 

Harry thought back to the god in his aunt’s garden, attempting to dig up the body of his uncle, and he closed his eyes. He was partly relieved because it meant no more Petunia, or Dudley, or having Evan be forced to take Polyjuice day after day. But one the other hand, did that mean he’d never see his father again (his real father, not Sirius, never Sirius), or Lucius, or spend Yule at Malfoy Manor, or live with Theodore anymore? 

“I want to see my friends. I want to spend some of the summer at their houses, or have them visit me, or go to Diagon Alley and meet up with them whenever I like. I won’t be a prisoner.” Harry whispered. He had been aiming to sound angry and determined so that Sirius would know to take him seriously, but in the end he had sounded like a child whose world was turning upside down again. 

“You won’t be. I promise. I promise. Is that a yes?” Sirius grabbed Harry again, hugging him tightly, even as he reached out over the child’s head to take the quill from Narcissa and sign his name on the dotted line. 

Narcissa took the parchment, tucking it into her robe pocket. “Come Draco, your father had gone to speak with the Minister.” Harry didn’t believe that for a second: Lucius was up to something if Evan had left with him. “We should return you to Hogwarts.”

She pushed open the doors to the courtroom and stepped outside. A small scream left her lips as a rat darted through her legs and took off down the corridor. Harry ran forward, glancing at the rat and then back the way it had come from and took off running. He rounded three corners before he found the one Aurors lying on the floor, and the two Dementors standing over him. As far as anyone in the Ministry would be able to guess the Dementors had turned on the Auror for some reason or other, taking his soul, and in the confusion Peter had managed to escape. Lucius wasn’t in sight. Perhaps he really was speaking to Cornelius Fudge. But floating around the second Dementor’s head was a brown butterfly with green patches on its wings. 

_XXX_

June 6th 1994. Hogwarts. 

The exams had started. Today was Harry’s first exam of his third year. Next year, at this time, he would be beginning his mock OWL’s, and the year after his real ones. Though everyone around him was studying furiously, cramming for the test that waited just an hour away, Harry was glancing calmly down at the note that had just been dropped into his breakfast. Hedwig hurried away, not stopping to steal food. 

**Our Lord has use for him yet** , was all the note read. With a quick swish of his wand, Harry set the note aflame. It curled and burned, the dust falling into his porridge, and Harry glanced down at it with a frown before deciding to forgo breakfast this morning and instead cram for his Transfiguration exam. 

_XXX_

June 19th 1994. Privet Drive. 

It had taken her years, but finally Petunia had saved up enough money to afford a landscaper. The small café that she slaved away in five days a week was the bane of her existence, on the list with her perfect sister Lily, her freakish nephew Harry, and the detrimental effect magic had had on her previously wonderful husband Vernon. But that small café also paid her five-forty-five an hour, and Petunia had tucked enough away after buying food for herself and Dudley, and clothes, and other essentials that this new Vernon refused to pay for. She now had enough to start work on the perfect garden she had always wanted. Harry should have been doing all the grunt work for her, but ever since the boy turned eight Vernon wouldn’t let him do chores anymore. Dudley was too delicate for this type of work, and as an upstanding, classy women Petunia certainly wasn’t going to go digging through the dirt. 

There was a man in her garden, perfectly normal and magic-free, and she was paying him a flat fee of £150 per day.2 Petunia watched him through the window, narrowing her eyes as he sat back on his heels to take a long drink of water. She scowled heavily; she wasn’t paying him to sit on his arse and do nothing, so she banged loudly on the window. The man turned to smile at her over his shoulder, though it looked more like a strained grimace than the polite smile he was aiming for. 

He continued digging. 

Petunia wanted a pond, and a wider path leading to the backdoor, and a mound of rocks and plants in the corner, and climbing roses and ivy along the fence that neighboured number 2, because she didn’t like that neighbour so oh well if the plants grew into her garden too. The man had already been working for two days, digging out other plots of dirt, and beginning to cultivate the plants, but today he reached the six foot mark. 

His shovel struck Vernon’s body, just as Evan Rosier walking into the house. 

Evan wasn’t Polyjuiced. He wasn’t even dressed as a Muggle today. He was sick of pretending, and he had been watching Petunia since Sirius’ trial, knowing what she had planned for her garden and waiting to see if she would ever go ahead. Legilimency was a wonderful, handy thing to know, Evan thought to himself, just as the Muggle in the garden begun screaming. 

Petunia ran out to him, screaming twice as loudly, as her husband’s preserved face looked up at her, pale and bald. With the spell on him, Vernon was frozen in time. His hair and nails didn’t grow in death as they were meant to, and he didn’t rot, but Evan had tucked any leftover hair of Vernon’s into the fridge last night, shoved at the bottom of a half-used bag of flour that Petunia had used several times already. The Death Eater raised his wand, not waiting until Petunia noticed him to cast the _Imperious_ curse on her Muggle landscaper. 

“You saw her kill him. You were digging the hole to bury him. You were going to put the pond over him, so that no one would ever find him.” Evan whispered, smiling proudly as the Muggle repeated everything slowly out loud, before turning to Petunia. 

“I watched you kill him. I need to ring the police now, excuse me.” He pushed his way passed the hysterical widow, ignoring her cries and wails. 

“No,” Petunia hissed suddenly, calming down almost at once as a thought struck her. Vernon had been in Harry’s room last night, and this morning before she had gone to work, because Petunia had checked in on him only to run crying from the room as Vernon threw the alarm clock at her. This wasn’t her husband in the ground. Or the man in her house wasn’t her husband. Either way this was Harry’s fault. 

“No,” she told the policeman who came to question her. His colleagues were outside with the mortician and the EMT people. “My nephew did this,” she told them, as the butterfly watched her from the top of the policeman’s hat. “Vernon went out of the country last summer, but he came back last night. We had dinner together,” she added, though that was a bit of a stretch. Evan had eaten. Petunia and Dudley had cowered nervously in the back of the kitchen and watched him. “He was in bed when I left for work this morning. My nephew did this. He’d a freak, you know,” she was starting to sound calmer, colder, and the policeman put it down to the shock setting in, or the guilt, but really Petunia was just imaging drowning Harry in a bucket of water the night she found him. Like she should have done. 

“It’s those freaks’ faults. If they hadn’t of left him here when his parents got blown up this wouldn’t have happened. My Vernon would still be here, those magic freaks wouldn’t even know I existed if it wasn’t for my freak nephew.”

“Magic?” The policeman laughed, raising his eyebrows at the serious way Petunia had used the word. 

“He’s a Wizard. He goes to Wizard school. The Wizard government came here over the summer, just talk to them; they’ll tell you this is my nephew’s fault.” Petunia wrung her hands together, in front of her stomach, and she glanced down at them, shocked to see bruises across her fingers and arms from where Vernon had manhandled her after dinner last night. To the policeman, it looked as if Vernon had fought back when Petunia killed him. No one thought to question how Petunia, being so slight, would have been able to strangle someone like Vernon, not even after the coroner shouted out the cause of death. 

A second officer, a woman, came running out of the kitchen with a bun in her hand. Her face was twisted in disgust and she thrust it towards the man interviewing Petunia. “There’s hair in this. There’s a whole bag of hair in the flour in the fridge too, Deeks found it earlier. What was she going to do, cook him piece by piece before that guy started burying him?” She dropped the bun onto the floor, and turned back to head inside. 

Petunia picked it up slowly. She had baked these this morning, they had been ready just as she left for work, but she didn’t remember hair being in her flour. She pulled one strand, and a ball of hair broke free of the cake, dropping crumbs all around her. It was the colour of Vernon’s hair, and Petunia clutched it in the palm of her hand as she stared at the bald head of her dead husband. “This is Harry’s fault. He did this,” she whispered again. 

“She did it!” The landscaper screamed. He was pointing at Petunia through the window, talking to another policeman in the kitchen, and at his words handcuffs slapped over Petunia’s wrists, and the half-eaten bun fell back to the ground. 

“You’re under arrest on suspicion of murdering Vernon Dursley.” 

When Dudley came home, his grandparents were waiting for him, and his mother was awaiting trial. Evan waited just long enough to watch the shattered expression cross Dudley’s face as Anthony Evans told him that they’d take care of him now, and Maura Evans told him Petunia had murdered his father. Once Dudley had collapsed, sobbing in his grandmother’s arms, the butterfly swept out of the open window, and winged his way through the sky until he was far enough away to apparate. Then, Evan Rosier returned to Malfoy Manor. Lord Voldemort was finished with him for the summer. 

_XXX_

June 18th 1994. Kings Cross. 

When Harry stepped off the Hogwarts Express, he instinctively walked towards Lucius Malfoy. Beside him, Tennyson Alfred waited, having thrown away the disguise of Vernon Dursley in favour of a mask that had always been his. Theodore Nott walked towards them, followed by Draco, each tugging their luggage in their wake. Harry stayed frozen to the spot. He had no reason to go home with Evan Rosier now. There was no more Vernon Dursley; Dumbledore had called Harry to his office the day of his last exam to explain slowly and patiently, as if Harry were incapable of understanding, that his uncle was now dead. Murdered. As if Harry hadn’t already known. 

There was no more Privet Drive, or sharing a bed with Evan at night, or chasing a butterfly across the room while terrifying Dudley in the process. Theo wouldn’t be living with him; he’d be living with his new guardian, Tennyson, the secret magical friend of Vernon’s who had left guardianship of his wards to. But Harry had an adoptive father now. Sirius Black. There was no chance of him being shipped to his grandparent’s like Dumbledore probably wanted, or to some other hapless Muggle, or an orphanage. He’d be going home with his pureblooded godfather every summer from now on. 

“Hey kiddo,” Sirius said, walking towards him when Harry made no further movements. 

The dark haired teenager allowed Sirius to pull him into a hug, watching sadly as Lucius left with Draco first, and then Evan tugged Theo towards the exit of Platform nine and three-quarters. Sirius led him towards the Weasley family, all of whom were waiting for him, and Remus, who reached out to pluck Harry’s luggage from his limp grip. 

“You excited, Harry?” Remus asked, smiling widely. “We’ll be staying in the same house this summer, you, Sirius and I. Though, I’m sure the Weasleys will be visiting.”

“Oh goody,” Harry murmured. Fred and George heard him, and they grinned widely, before nudging Ron forcefully. The redhead nearly fell on top of Harry, and the teenager scowled. “Can we just leave, please?” He asked, turning in Sirius’ hold to look up at the man pleadingly. 

The Weasleys left first, all of them heading out of the train station. Apparently Arthur had a car waiting outside. Sirius handed Harry a slip of paper and a sock. Remus and Sirius kept a finger each on the sock, and Harry correctly guessed that it was a Portkey. As he read the one sentence on the slip of paper, the Portkey activated, pulling them out of the Wizarding World and dumping them on the doorstep of a dirty, dark looking house in the middle of London. 

**Harry Potter lives at Number 12, Grimmauld Place**. 3 

**XXX**

 

This has nothing to do with the story :P but… for Keaira Riona: “It matters not whether these weapons of ours are humane: if they gain us our freedom, they are justified before our conscience and before our God. -Adolf Hitler, in Munich, 01 Aug. 1923”. War quote. Happy? :P


	39. Chapter 38

Thanks to everyone reading, commenting or leaving a Kudos :)

WARNING: minor, minor, minor LM/HP slash, and insinuations of twincest. 

 

 **Words:** 3,321  
 **Chapter 38**  
June 25th 1994. Grimmauld Place. 

School finished 7 days ago, and Harry had yet to hear from his friends or father. Instead, he was stuck in the Black ancestral home with his godfather who meant well and his old professor who was convinced he had some sort of anti-social behavioural problem. 

Harry rolled his eyes, stirring the spoon in his cup of tea, remembering the second day he had spent at Grimmauld Place and how Remus had insisted that there must have been something wrong with Harry’s home life for the boy to be avoiding them so much. Sirius seemed to know what it was like to want to be anywhere but with your guardians, he had run away from home after all, but when Remus lectured the taller man easily took his friends’ side: anything to convince Harry to stay with them. Anything to keep his godson with him. 

“Harry?” a voice called from the hallway. Harry sighed heavily, placing his tea back down on the counter. Half of him wondered if he could hide under the table and not be seen, but the other half, the more logical half, pointed out that the werewolf already knew he was in there, he could smell him, there was nowhere to hide. 

“In here, Remus.” Harry leant back in his chair, lounging in what he hoped was a carefree manner. His insides were twisted into knots, and his fingers shook even as they squeezed the arm rests of his chair. Remus was staring at him intently as he entered the kitchen, Sirius in tow, and Harry resisted the urge to shrink back into the chair. 

“What now?” He hissed instead, thoroughly sick of their ‘interventions’. Where were they when he really did need help? When Vernon hit him, or burned him, or pinned him to the ground with his trousers off? Where were they then, where were they before he had Evan? 

“We’re worried about you, Harry,” Sirius started, though he was frowning as if he wasn’t sure he should be worried. Harry figured he was probably just saying what Remus told him to. Harry couldn’t fault the man, he was only doing what Lucius had asked, taking care of Harry, and he was lonely and afraid, desperate not to lose the last link to his old family. Remus, Harry recognized, was trying to make up for something: guilt at abandoning him perhaps, at believing Sirius to be a murderer, redeeming himself in his own eyes by helping Harry overcome his childhood abuse, because after all his aunt was a murderer. Who knew what else she might have done, to Harry? But that didn’t make these talks any less annoying or painful. 

“You don’t need to be. I’m fine, Sirius. Remus is just suffering from multiple paranoid delusions. If he actually cared about me he wouldn’t have made himself scarce after my parents’ deaths. You were in prison, what was his excuse?” Harry turned to cast a dirty look in Remus’ direction before he pushed passed Sirius. 

The adults watched him leave the kitchen, glancing from Harry’s back to each other and back again. “You want to tell him you invited the Weasleys over or leave it till he calms down?” Sirius asked, the corner of his lips curving up slightly. 

“Why can’t you?” 

“You invited them. It’s only fair if you get the blame as well!” Sirius pointed out, nudging his friend’s shoulder with a fist before following Harry from the kitchen. Remus rolled his eyes, following his childhood friend. 

They wouldn’t actually need to tell Harry the Weasleys were coming over, because the red headed family tumbled out of the fireplace one after the other as Harry entered the living room. Sirius and Remus weren’t far behind him, but they were far enough away that they weren’t able to stop Harry from jumping into the open floo once it was clear. With two words and a whirl of green fire, Harry was gone. 

He landed in the atrium of Malfoy Manor, stumbling painfully out of the fireplace, his hands scrambling at the walls as he tried to keep his balance. He waited for a few minutes, frowning to himself as more time went by without anyone coming to see who had come through the floo. 

“Fine,” Harry muttered to himself, heading out of the atrium. If they didn’t want to come for him, he’d go to them. It wouldn’t make that much of a difference anyway. 

The living room was empty, the bedrooms were empty, Merlin even the kitchen was empty minus the handful of trembling house elves. Harry finally resorted to using the _point me_ spell, pointing his wand at the window in case everybody was for some reason on the Quidditch pitch, but the wand just kept spinning, around and around. With tears in his eyes, Harry made his way to the bedroom that had been his since he had first met Draco. It was stupid to cry, he told himself: why was he expecting everyone to be at home, sitting around waiting for him. Just because he sat around waiting for owls that never came didn’t mean that everybody else’s life was as pathetic as his own. Curling up in the middle of his bed, Harry told himself not to cry, but the tears fell anyway. 

_XXX_

July 1st 1994. Diagon Alley. 

Theodore Nott waved from the table outside of Florescue’s. Harry felt a smile stretch over his mouth, lips quirked up and cheeks flushing in excitement. He hadn’t seen his friends in forever, and there they were, just ahead of him, just through the light crowd of people in the Alley. Theo had written to him, inviting him out with Draco and himself, and Harry had immediately demanded permission from Sirius to go. The Lord Black hadn’t even protested about Harry going out on his own, or meeting with ‘junior death eaters’ as some of Sirius’ friends called them. The man was pretty laid back about Harry seeing his friends, as long as Harry promised to come back at a reasonable time and not run away. 

Harry finally cleared the crowd in front of him and stopped dead. “Where’s Draco?” Harry asked, frowning heavily as he slip into the chair beside Theo.

“His father wanted him to have duelling lessons this summer,” Theodore said with a shrug. “Draco, kind of, forgot that the lesson clashed with us meeting you today. I did remind him, but you know Draco and his perfectionism. Anything to impress his father.” 

“Yeah,” Harry whispered. He looked around the Alley, feeling awkward and hurt. Theo opened his mouth, but fortunately a waitress appeared at the same time, bringing Theo’s ice cream and taking Harry’s order. “So, uh,” he began, waiting until the waitress left the second time before speaking, “I came to the Manor the other day. Where were you all?”

Theo looked a little uncomfortable, rubbing at the back of his head with his free hand and shovelling ice cream into his mouth with the other, delaying his response. “Mr Malfoy’s cousin threw a party or something in France. Draco invited me, and Evan went as well and well…” Theo rubbed his mouth, lowering his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at Harry as he spoke. “We didn’t invite you because they didn’t want Black or Lupin going.1 Sorry!” 

Harry’s eyes flew wide open, and the spoon he was holding dropped onto the table but Theo still wouldn’t look up at him. “Oh,” he said eventually. 

“You ok?” the other boy mumbled, fiddling with his napkin. 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Harry pushed his ice cream away, no longer hungry. He couldn’t look at Theodore without his heart feeling like it was being squeezed in his chest, and he couldn’t think of Lucius or Evan purposely not inviting him somewhere without the breath catching in his throat. Didn’t they love him anymore? “We should probably buy our school things!” He said, hurriedly pulling himself out of his chair. He was out of Theo’s sight by the time the boy fumbled to his feet, and the Slytherin chased after his friend feeling terrible at the stricken expression Harry had been wearing as he left. 

_XXX_

July 12th 1994. 

“What’s the matter Harry?” Fred Weasley asked, sitting down on the edge of Harry’s unmade bed. The boy was curled in the middle of it, with a pillow over his face. He looked rather pitiful, and the twins looked at each other and grinned. 

“How can we help?” George asked, as he moved to sit on the other side of the bed. 

“I want to go out, but I can’t get near the fireplace or the front door. That stupid portrait wakes up or Ginny or Ron notices me before I can get out of here.” 

“You don’t like it here, do you?” Fred asked. He reached out to run his fingers through Harry’s hair, and the boy turned into his touch, allowing Fred to pet him and comfort him, as George lent over to rub circled on his back. 

“I feel like I’m trapped. My friends are living their lives and having fun and being together and I’m being left behind and forgotten. Hermione can’t visit because the stupid Blacks put stupid wards up that only let people with magical parents come inside and Draco and Lucius have better things to do and Theo is stealing my dad and there’s nothing I can do about it.” 

The twins ignored the mention of a dad, choosing instead to pull Harry into George’s lap while Fred leant up against his back. They hugged him tightly, whispering against his ear. “We’re here. You aren’t forgotten or alone, Harry. You have us.” 

“Thanks.” Harry said, sniffling lightly. 

He felt so stupid, but after half of the summer passing without his friends making any sort of effort it left him feeling off kilter and vulnerable. He was half tempted to kiss one of the twins, to stick it to Lucius who hadn’t even written to him this summer even though the man was constantly seen out and about by the Daily Prophet yet had no time for Harry. Or he could make them his new best friends and tell Draco and Theo where to go. But what about Evan? No one could replace Evan, or Lucius, or Draco, or Theo if Harry was willing to admit it to himself. He loved them. Only them. They were his family, and he was lost without them. He wondered, briefly, if this was how Sirius and Remus felt when the Potters had died. For a moment he empathised with them, felt the desolation they must have felt, the hopelessness, the longing, and then he pushed it all away along with the twins. 

Pulling out of their joint embrace, Harry crawled off the bed. He didn’t want to think about Fred or George, or how he had thought about kissing them to spite Lucius because it would be pointless and painful and it wasn’t what he wanted anyway. He didn’t want to use them to replace his friends, because the twins were sort of his friends anyway and people weren’t interchangeable. 

“I’m ok now guys, thanks though.” Harry rubbed at his eyes, pushing his glasses up and out of the way. “But I’d really appreciate it if you’d help me sneak out of here.”

“No problem,” Fred said grinning. 

“Happy to help.” 

Once the twins started to blow stuff up, Harry found that it was rather easy to sneak out without anybody noticing him go. He arrived, once more, in Malfoy Manor’s atrium, but this time Lucius was waiting for him. The man had a hand raised, green powder trickling from between his fingers. With a soft smile, the blond dropped the floo powder back into the bowl and lowered his arm silently. 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Harry told him, scowling and climbing out of the fireplace, “I’m angry with you.” He was anything but, but Harry wasn’t going to tell the man that. His heart beat louder, his breath came faster, and unconsciously he tilted his chin up waiting for Lucius to kiss him. 

“I’ve been putting things in motion. It was unavoidable, but now, unfortunately, you won’t be rid of me for the remainder of the summer holidays, beloved.” Lucius drawled, taking three steps forward so that he could snake an arm around Harry’s narrow waist. 

“What is it?” Harry asked curiously. He tilted his head higher, lips forming into a pout and his eyes fluttered shut as lips descended upon his. 

“It’s a surprise, but you’ll love it. You’ll find out soon, beloved. Now, hush, more kissing, less talking.” And they were kissing again, Harry laughing softly into Lucius’ mouth, as his hands pulled at blond hair. His legs were up around Lucius’ waist, and the man carried him out of the atrium and through the manor. Neither cared who might see them, for they were in the privacy of Lucius’ home, surrounded by family. 

But Severus Snape had tired of waiting for Lucius’ floo call and had come to visit. He stood in the abandoned atrium, eyes wide and mouth open as Lucius and Harry remained joined at the mouth, hands fumbling and squeezing, both panting heavily, until they disappeared out of sight. Snape narrowed his eyes in thought, contemplated interrupting them, but then dismissed the notion. He had no idea what was going on, whether Lucius had planned something, or if this was Harry’s doing, or even if somehow a marriage contract had been created between the two families. He couldn’t act until he knew what he was acting on, after all. He was a Slytherin: Slytherins waited and plotted. Only Gryffindors rushed in. 

_XXX_

July 31st 1994. Grimmauld Place. 

Order of the Phoenix members wondered through the Black home, drinking and laughing, some carrying plates filled with cake and chocolates. Harry watched them from the top of the stairs, scribbling hurriedly on a piece of parchment, taking down every name he had overheard or been introduced to. It was only when the fire place flared to life and Draco Malfoy stepped gracefully out of it that Harry rolled up the parchment and tucked it away. 

It was his birthday party. Sirius had insisted, and the place was beautifully decorated and the food was amazing and loads of people had brought presents, but none of those people were Harry’s friends. But now Draco had arrived, and Lucius had appeared behind him, one hand on his snake-headed cane and the other on his son’s shoulder, and Harry pushed through the crowd of gaping Light-sided people to throw himself at Draco. 

“I’ve missed you,” Harry whispered against Draco’s pale cheek, glancing up then to catch Lucius’ eyes and mouth the words again. “How’d the duelling lessons go?”

“Very well. I finished with distinctions.” Draco told him, offering a haughty sneer to the closest Wizard to them. 

“Well I’m glad,” Harry told him, hugging him tighter for a second longer before letting go. And he was glad: he had been half determined to ignore Draco the next time he saw him, but Draco was his friend, and the boy only wanted to do well at his schooling and lessons, and that was no different to Harry ignoring Quidditch practices and parties to study in the Hogwarts library. Only, during the summer Harry was alone, and Draco had Theo, Evan and his parents in the same house. It sucked a little, but Draco was a good friend most of the time, and that required a little selflessness from Harry on occasion. 

“Happy birthday.” 

“Thanks. Want some cake?” Harry dragged both Lucius and Draco into the kitchen, the rest of the party watching them stupidly. 

“What’s Malfoy doing here?” Ron hollered red in the face.

Four hours later, Ron was still asking the same question, but still nobody had given him a response. No one had been expecting the two blonds to arrive, but Sirius supposed he should have guessed. The Nott boy had been appearing unexpectedly over the past week, and even Malfoy Sr. had turned up once without an invitation, so of course they knew where Harry lived, and as Harry didn’t view them as a threat, and they had made no move to attack Sirius, the house’s owner, the wards hadn’t kept them out. 

“Where are the Malfoys anyway?” Sirius asked, glancing around the room. 

“Draco left, I saw him going into the floo ten minutes ago. Mr Malfoy must have gone ahead.” Fred and George glanced at each other, wondering whether they should correct Ginny’s statement. The twins had seen Lucius Malfoy heading upstairs, with Harry Potter trailing behind him. In the end they decided to keep quiet, but they pulled a string from their pocket with a strange looking globe hanging off the end, and they too made their way up the rickety staircase in search of a different kind of entertainment. 

“Think we’ll hear anything, brother?” 

“Why, Fred, are you planning to perv on poor, innocent Harry?” 

“Innocent my arse, George! He brought Malfoy into his bedroom and locked the door!” 

“They could be… talking?” George suggested, but they both laughed almost immediately after the words were out of his mouth. 

They held up the prototype of something they had been working on. The globe was meant to be an ear, but it wasn’t quite finished yet. Nonetheless, the boys hoped that it would work as well as they had imagined. Fred pushed the string into the key hole and held the globe up to his ear. George leant in close to him, getting as close to the globe as he could manage with his face pressed against his brother’s. Fred tapped the string with his wand, and the spell activated just in time for them to hear Harry moan out Lucius’ name before gasping loudly, followed by Lucius groaning in orgasm. They could imagine them both, the younger one pressed to the mattress with Lucius over him, doing things to him, kissing and petting and touching. Fred pulled away first, panting lightly and palming the tent in the front of his trousers. George kept listening, only pulling away once he heard Harry whisper ‘I love you’, not wanting to intrude on something _that_ private. There were lines you didn’t cross after all. 

“Wish I was a fly on that wall.” Fred moaned, still palming himself. 

George grinned lasciviously, casting a brief glance down at his own groin. “Need a hand with that, bro?” He asked, licking his lips and arching his eyebrows up. 

“Thought you’d never ask!” Fred hopped to his feet, reaching out to grab his twin’s hand. 

“Well, the extendable ear works at least!” George commented as Fred dragged him down the hallway. “Doesn’t look much like an ear though.” 

Inside of the room, Lucius lay his head on Harry’s stomach, smiling softly against the quivering muscles and skin, his tongue flicking out to taste the sweat and the semen. Harry lay flat on his back, legs spread to accommodate Lucius who was fully dressed where Harry was completely naked. 

“I love you,” Harry whispered softly, his hand moving to run through Lucius’ hair, a soft smile on his face as the man above him almost stopped breathing in surprise. Maybe it was too soon, or maybe it would remind Lucius of how young he was, and maybe Harry should get up and figure out what the hushed noises outside of his door were, but all thoughts were pushed out of his mind when Lucius finally spoke.

“I love you also, very much.” Lucius pressed a harder kiss to Harry’s stomach, just above the patch of hair that had grown around his sex. Harry smiled one hand still in Lucius’ hair and the other moving to press against his racing heart. 

“Good.”

**XXX**

 

1 – It’s happened to me before. It feels like you’ve been punched in the stomach.   
It’s no different to what Hermione and Ron did in OotP, so no complaints about how horrible his friends were being.


	40. Chapter 39

**Words:** 4,915  
 **Chapter 39**  
August 3rd 1994. Little Hangleton. 

Harry knew he had to be dreaming, there was no other explanation for it. He was in a building that he didn’t recognize, the hallways cast in shadows with every surface covered by a layer of dust and dirt. The whole place stank of damp, and Harry got the feeling that the building had been empty for a long time now. But while he had never seen the house before, there were things that jumped out at him, strange things that Harry wished he could put down to being a part of a strange dream. But a large snake, slithering along at his feet dispelled that hope. 

She hissed at him, writhing on the floors, coils twisting and turning as she pushed herself along in front of him. **“Master, nearly there Master. Tell servant to hurry, hurry servant, hurry. Master, almost there.”**

Against his will, Harry found his mouth opening and the words escaped him even as he tried to bite down on his tongue and stop them. He wasn’t her master, he didn’t know whose snake she was but she wasn’t his, and yet, he addressed her as his familiar. “ **Hush, Nagini. Bartemius is going as fast as he can. We must make allowances for those who are not as adept as ourselves.”**

Harry frowned, trying to think if he had ever heard of those names before. They didn’t ring any bells, and before he could waste any more time wondering over it, Harry found his head turning against his will, twisting to the side and tilting backwards so that he was easily able to gaze up at the horrifically tall, blond man behind him. No. No that wasn’t right, Harry realized with a mental frown. The man was only an average height. The problem, the weirdest part of the whole situation, was that Harry was uncommonly small. He glanced at his hands (or rather the child glanced at his hands, and Harry followed suit unconsciously). They were small, child-sized hands, uncalloused and pale, almost grey in colour. His child-sized feet dangled more than a foot above the ground as ‘Bartemius’ carried him along on his hip. His robes were plain black, but Harry could make out the child-like pattern of snitches along the bottom hem. 

They came to a stop in an undecorated room. There was a mirror on one wall, and Harry glimpsed the deformed face that stared back at him, grey and slit-nosed, its tiny mouth pursed into an almost lipless frown. He was slowly, carefully placed down into the over large chair in the centre of the room: the only piece of furniture bar the mirror. 

Bartemius stood before him for a moment, before gracefully dropping to his knees. He kept his head bowed, even as he whispered, “my Lord” with more reverence than Harry had heard anyone use ever. 

And he knew it was no dream. It couldn’t be. Somehow, someway, he was in the current body of Lord Voldemort. How he had attained such a body was of no consequence for surely he would not remain in this one forever. Rather, Harry wondered if this was a consequence of his being a Horcrux, or perhaps if this had something to do with his connection with Tom Riddle from his second year, the other Horcrux? 

When he woke, he wondered if Evan would know. So, Harry wrote him and asked. 

_XXX_

August 14th 1994. 

Sirius watched his godson, a half-smile on his face. He knew what the boy was doing; he had been young once himself and it wasn’t as if _his_ parents had approved of his dalliances either. Not that Sirius didn’t approve, mind you, but he’d have rather Harry be a little more open about this secret lover of his. The bite marks on his neck were proof enough in their own right, but the soppy smiles that escaped Harry whenever he received letters from one owl in particular was another gigantic clue. Not to mention the fact that since his birthday party Harry was constantly sneaking out whenever he thought no one would notice him gone, then coming back looking satisfied and relaxed, happier than most people had the right to be. 

As long as he was being careful, Sirius thought, watching the door close behind the Ravenclaw teenager. He was far too young and sexy to be a grandparent, thank you very much.1 

Harry didn’t notice his godfather at all. He was too excited by his upcoming date that nothing but Lucius existed in the world. There was no Remus, with his rules and disappointment. No Sirius, who meant well but needed to learn to think for himself. No Draco, whose father Harry was having regular oral sex with. No Narcissa, Lucius’ wife. He had no friends, none, because they weren’t involved in this relationship. For the moment, it was only Lucius and Harry, and Evan’s lack of response and his continued dreams starring at Lord Voldemort weren’t even enough to knock him out of his good mood. 

August was turning into the best month of this year, Harry thought to himself as he flagged down a black cab. Lucius was waiting for him in Muggle London, though considering the time Lucius was probably already in the restaurant. Harry had gotten a little behind himself, not by long, just a few minutes late, but he had some serious problems deciding what to wear. He’d never had dinner in a fancy restaurant before as part of a date. Sure Evan had taken him out a couple of times before Hogwarts, but they had gotten dressed together so Harry knew that he was wearing acceptable clothes. He didn’t want to turn up and embarrass Lucius by being underdressed or overdressed, or late for that matter, and so he shook himself out of his thoughts and addressed the driver. 

His stomach rolled as the cab pulled away from the curb. It wasn’t a bad feeling, Harry considered, even as he rubbed circles on his stomach. In fact, it felt as if there were hundreds of butterflies inside of him, each of them breaking free from their cocoons simultaneously and fluttering around excitedly. He had felt it before, of course, but he had never much considered what it meant. Excitement, desire, nervousness, anxiety; all emotions that Harry had experienced at one point on each of his dates with Lucius. But each date turned out brilliantly, enjoyable and memorable, and they always finished with tender kisses and hesitant touches on Harry’s part while Lucius was confident enough in himself to just take what he wanted within reason. And Harry loved it, loved him, and he grinned widely as they pulled up outside of the restaurant and Lucius met him at the cab, pulling open the door for him and payer the driver before Harry could even reach into his pocket for money. 

“Good afternoon, beloved,” Lucius greeted his lips soft and demanding as they pressed against Harry’s own. 

“I love you,” Harry replied softly once they broke apart, smiling from ear to ear, the way people in love usually do. 

_XXX_

August 23rd 1994. Grimmauld Place. 

Harry thrashed in his bed. There was sweat on his forehead, and along the sides of his neck, and his eyes were screwed tightly closed as he fought with his sheets, kicking and flailing. He cried out, green light flashing behind his eyes, and though he couldn’t make himself wake up, though he continued to live through it, he knew it wasn’t real. It was just a dream, one of many he had since his birthday, but this time he wasn’t Lord Voldemort. This time, he was standing helplessly behind an old Muggle man, who stood terrified and still with a large ring of jangling keys in one hand and a torch in the other as Bartemius, Nagini and Voldemort looked on at him as the green light hit. 

Harry gasped his way to waking, crying out softly through panted breathes, his eyes unfocused and wide. Hands clutched at the bed sheets, fingers trembling. And then he cried out again as two figures leant over him, smiling widely as their mouths opened, one after the other. 

“Harry, mate!” Ron greeted, reaching forward to smack him on the shoulder. Harry flinched, still disorientated, half expecting Voldemort to level his wand at _him_ next, to finish him off for spying or snooping or whatever these dreams amounted to. 

“We came to invite you to the Quidditch World Cup! Dad got tickets in work off Ludo Bagman!” Ginny told him excitedly, moving swiftly to sit beside him on the bed. 

Harry glanced warily at her, and then Ron, and then back before his eyes darted around the room scanning every shadow for the child-shaped homunculus that housed the Dark Lord. He found nothing though and turned back in time to see Ron’s mouth finish moving (though Harry hadn’t heard anything he said, his ears still full of the scream of “ _Avada Kedavra_ ” and the cry as green light hit) and of Ginny leaning closer and closer, smiling hopefully. They had obviously asked him something and taken his silence as consent, because as he recoiled from her attempted kiss Ron shouted something and Ginny looked devastated, and Harry wanted to be anywhere but there. How did they get into his room anyway? 

He needed to get away… 

Ron pointed at him, his face red, with accusations on his lips. But Harry only saw the raised arm, not noticing the lack of wand in its grip, and panicked. Instead of waiting for the two words that would end his life, he sprang from the bed, cowardly and confused and young, but instead of bolting for the door he found himself sprawled face down in a cemetery. His head ached, his vision swam, and his eyes only seemed to focus on one thing. The statue of an angel in front of him, the grave stone, stood upon a base that was engraved with the words “Tom Riddle”. Harry didn’t need to turn and see the house, or the snake, or the Death Eater that slowly approached him to know where he was. He had accidentally apparated to Voldemort’s side, or as close as he could get with the wards in place.

The Death Eater stopped beside him, staring down at Harry’s trembling form through the eye holes in his mask, before the peeled the object from his face. “What are you doing here, caterpillar?” Evan Rosier asked his voice low and familiar and Harry gave a soft whimper at the sound of it. 

“I was afraid.” He admitted in a whisper. 

“So you ran to the Dark Lord?” Evan added with a chuckle. 

“I ran,” the boy said simply, his destination wasn’t important, only the escape mattered. Evan nodded lightly, purposely not pointing out the fact that Harry had actually apparated, the last time he had done it had been the day Harry ended up on the roof of his primary school, so they both knew it was possible, but pointing out the obvious was a bit redundant Evan thought. “I’m his Horcrux.”

“You are,” Evan agreed, but there was a hint of question in his words. 

“Is that why I dream of him?” He looked suddenly like the child he was, wide green eyes full of fear and confusion, with his fringe hanging in the way, creating that look of innocence about him, as trembling fingers brushed it back out of the way and his bottom lip wobbled. “You never wrote back.” 

“The wards here do not accept owl post. We can write you, but you cannot send a reply. The owls are unharmed, but the letter incinerates once it crossed the ward line. Come, inside with you, my son. The time has come… to talk of many things.”2

Harry allowed himself a small smile, as he followed his father into Riddle manor, past the blond Death Eater he had dreamed about too often, and towards the room with the mirror and the chair where Lord Voldemort was waiting. But before they entered the room, Harry couldn’t resist finishing the quote. He had been far too long since he and Evan had last quoted at each other. “Of shoes, and ships, and sealing-wax,   
of cabbages, and kings, and why the sea is boiling hot, and whether pigs have wings.”2 

“Indeed,” Evan said with a smile of his own, the corner of his mouth tilting upwards for a moment. 

But then the door opened fully, and a scaled head peeked around the edge, tongue flicking out and scenting the air as Harry watched her. Lord Voldemort called to him, voice high pitched and curious, a child-sized hand extended towards his guests and Harry came forward slowly, reaching out to clasp the offered hand, and instead of bowing over it he pressed a soft kiss to the back of the hand, the way Lucius always did to him. Harry had always liked the way he felt when Lucius did that, as if he were important and special, cherished: Lord Voldemort was far more important, and special, and Bartemius obviously cherished him from the reverence the man spoke to him with. Evan thought highly of him too. Lucius also. And so Harry saw nothing wrong with making Voldemort feel as good about himself, as Lucius did Harry, the kiss conveying what he hoped was his loyalty and respect. 

Evan coughed, and Voldemort arched an eyebrow at him, as Bartemius watched from the hallway with his mouth hanging open. 

“Welcome,” Lord Voldemort said, pulling his hand back and gesturing around the room, “to my home.” 

“Merry met.” Harry greeted, trying not to look and sound as nervous as he felt. The butterflies were awake again, restless in his stomach, but not in the way they had been before his date with Lucius. They were wilder now, uneasy, and Harry clenched his hands at his side, digging his nails into his palms. No one commented on it though, or his unexpected presence, or the way he had greeted the Dark Lord, even though Harry suddenly had the feeling that it had been somewhat wrong. 

When Lord Voldemort offered him a seat, there was an unusual expression on the grey face, and Harry had nowhere to sit in the unfurnished room except on the floor by the Dark Lord’s feet. 

_XXX_

August 25th 1994.3 Somewhere in England. 

It was the 422nd Quidditch World Cup, and Tennyson Alfred had apparently won ten tickets at a Ministry of Magic raffle. Apparently, Ludo Bagman had donated them as a prize in exchange for the Ministry paying off one of his many substantial debts. It seemed fair enough, considering no body in their right mind would buy ten tickets to the Minister’s Box, it would be scandalously expensive, and most people only needed three or four tickets anyway! It was also all rather last minute and the majority of families who could afford the tickets already had purchased some of their own. It was a good deal for Ludo Bagman and for Evan Rosier, but apparently not so good for the Weasley family. 

As Lucius steered the six of them passed the Muggles who owned the campsite, they glimpsed Arthur Weasley arguing futilely with two of the Aurors who were supposed to be collecting tickets. Harry frowned at them, the gathered family of redheads, and the two blonds who stood beside them, with the group but not really included at the same time. 

“What’s going on?” Draco asked, straining his neck in the most Pureblooded way he could manage to see over the crowd. Narcissa tsked at him, her nose scrunched up in distaste as she glanced around at the insane amount of people gathered together, packed into the campsite like sardines in a tin. 

Theodore shrugged. He had invited Terrance, but apparently the boy’s foster family had already bought tickets and Terrance was going to stay with them since they had asked him first. Theo was a little annoyed by his attitude because Evan had only told them they were going yesterday morning, so it wasn’t like he could have invited his brother any sooner. Hermione had declined the invitation as well, he knew, because she and her parents had gone to Italy for the last week of the summer. Narcissa, Lucius and Evan were the accompanying adults, and Draco, Theo and Harry were more than happy enough to be accompanied to the Quidditch World Cup, because after all it was the _422nd Quidditch World Cup_ , the first to be held in England for over thirty years! 

But with the six of them and their invitations being declined, they had ended up with four spare tickets, which for some reason Evan had refused to sell. 

Evan had been half tempted to invite Barty Jr. but after the trouble it took him to sneak the man out from under Crouch Sr’s suspicious watch, the Death Eater wasn’t too keen for the blond to be captured and placed under house arrest again. But he wasn’t going to give away the four tickets, just in case the working members of the Weasley family could somehow afford them. The two youngest had scared the hell out of his son, so much so that he had unconsciously apparated to the Dark Lord, someone who he _should_ have been afraid of. The hell they got to enjoy the World Cup after pulling a stunt like that. Lucius had been in complete agreement with him, of course, because Harry was theirs and neither of them enjoyed it when people meddled with theirs. 

“Ludo Bagman gave them tickets.” Harry pointed out softly, thinking back on the morning he woken to find the youngest Weasleys leaning over him. “Didn’t you say Bagman donated those tickets to the raffle?” Evan merely grinned back at him, his face different beneath Tennyson’s glamour, but Harry recognized him enough to know that he was feeling amused and vicious. 

“Oh, Mr Bagman says he can’t remember now,” a soft voice intoned from beside them. They turned to stare at the young girl who watched them serenely. “Daddy and I don’t mind of course. We were going to come a week early, and camp, just the other people with the cheap tickets, but Mr Weasley insisted we take the spare ones. We’re neighbours you see, but I’m not friends with any of his children.”

“Aren’t you upset that you’ll miss the world cup?” Harry asked, narrowing his eyes at her. It wasn’t that he liked Quidditch, but that this was the first game in England for years, something monumental and memorable. Anyone who was anyone had clamoured over themselves to get tickets for this event! 

“Not really. I got to see you, so I’m happy.” Lucius narrowed his eyes at her, stepped closer to Harry possessively, but the teenager just smiled softly at him. “You don’t remember me do you, Harry?” 

Harry’s eyes widened. He did remember her, but it had taken him a minute. This was the girl who had watched him in the common room as she held her book upside down and he had sneaked out under his invisibility cloak. This was the girl who had come up to him and told him they were going to be good friends. “I don’t believe I ever got your name.” He held a hand out, and she placed hers gently into his grip. Harry kissed her wrist lightly and released her. 

“Luna Lovegood, and that’s my daddy Xenophilius Lovegood.” 

“The editor of the Quibbler?” Theo asked, jumping into their conversation. 

“And owner, yes.” She reached into her pocket with the hand Harry had kissed and pulled out a rolled up newspaper, “would you like today’s edition?” 

“Would you like to see the world cup?” Harry asked, before Theodore could open his mouth to respond. The brunette looked up at his father, who looked down at him with a raised eyebrow before nodding slowly. “Go get your father, we have spare tickets.”

They watched Luna do exactly that. “Is there anyone you’d like to invite?” Lucius asked, turning away from the young Ravenclaw to look at his own son. “Theo?” Both boys shook their heads, no. Everyone they spoke to already had tickets. “Very well, Harry? Anyone else?” 

Harry reached over to squeeze Lucius’ arms lightly, thanking him for the offer, before turning to Evan. “If you promise not to change your mind after I’ve asked them, then yes please?”

“I’m not going to like this, I can tell. But go ahead.” Harry nodded gratefully at him, half tempted to hug him but knowing he shouldn’t in front of such a large crowd of strangers. It wasn’t proper. 

“Fred! George!” Harry shouted, ignoring propriety in this instance however. “It’s your lucky day, get over here!” He noticed Ron and Ginny giving each other horrified looks before glaring jealousy at the twins’ backs. Fred and George were by his side almost immediately, throwing their arms around Harry’s shoulders before sinking to their knees, their arms drawing down to lock around his waist instead. 

“Oh merciful Lord!”

“Oh wondrous leader.”

“Such a kind,”

“Wonderful,”

“Merciful,”

“Lovely,”

“Evil, Lord.” The twins whispered into his stomach and hip, speaking one after the other in between nuzzling at him. “How can we ever repay you?”

“Get off your knees, at once,” Harry insisted, his cheeks flushing, “you’re causing a scene!”

“But, you like us on our knees!” George insisting, grinning widely up at Harry. 

“Or would you prefer someone else, someone like… hmm…” Fred trailed off as Harry’s hand clamped down hard over his mouth, but everyone already knew what he was going to say because both twins were staring straight at Lucius Malfoy. 

Harry was mortified, flushed and wide-eyed, but Lucius leant forward calmly and pried the boys away from his lover with a soft, “indeed.” He took Harry’s hand in his own, unconcerned about people seeing because now they were all too interested in the spectacle the youngest Weasleys were making of themselves in their jealousy, and Arthur’s frantic mutterings that Molly wouldn’t be happy about this at all once she found out. They slipped past the crowd, heading towards the centre of the campsite that their tickets instructed was their area to pitch their tent, and as a house elf did the work for them, the ten unlikely associated got ready to enjoy the Quidditch World Cup. 

_XXX_

That night. 

He could distantly hear the sounds of running feet and shouting, but Harry frowned in his sleep, burrowing further against his pillow and tried to block it all out. But when someone settled over him, Harry’s eyes snapped open, and adrenaline kicked him into wakefulness. 

A Death Eater hovered above him, their lower bodies touching, but strong arms keeping Harry from being crushed. A half mask covered the man, but the grey eyes and the tendrils of pale hair that escaped his hood gave the man away. 

“They’ll know who you are if they see that,” Harry told him, pushing the locks of hair back behind Lucius’ ear. 

“I’ll tie it up in a moment.” Lucius continued to just watch him, cloaked in a long black robe and wearing his Death Eater mask, with the sleeve of his left arm pushed up so that Harry could clearly see the Dark Mark. Harry had known it was there, had seen it and kissed it, and dug his nails into it in the throes of his orgasm often enough. But Lucius was waiting for something, dressed like this, and it took Harry a moment to work out what it was. 

This man above him was dangerous and powerful, cruel and cold and capable of inhumane things. Most people were afraid of him, in awe of him, or plain hated him. Not that many people loved him though, with the exception of Draco and Harry, and he had few real friends. And Harry realised that Lucius was waiting for some form of rejection, for Harry to take this all in, the robe, the mask, the Mark, and find him wanting or detestable and come to his senses and run a mile. Lucius waited patiently, calmly, though Harry could feel his heart pounding madly in his chest when he reached up to touch Lucius. It was as if Harry’s leaving were inevitable, the only possible conclusion, because why would someone as kind and thoughtful as Harry (for all that he was Evan Rosier’s son) want a Death Eater like Lucius Malfoy, Voldemort’s second at that? 

But Harry did want him. Harry loved him, like he had never thought he could love anyone. It was as, when Lucius was near him, life was a fairy tale and he had his prince and his happily ever after, and no matter what happened he would be alright if Lucius loved him. Sometimes, he thought mutinously, he would have been better suited for Hufflepuff. 

But it was more than that, he thought as he continued to mull over everything. This summer had brought a lot of changes, a lot of time to think things over. He had had a taste of the light side, and he had seen Voldemort several times in his dreams and once in person, heard some of the plans, seen some of his thoughts, and felt the emotions as Voldemort felt them. There was more to the man than what the world had seen, and Harry felt honoured to know that, to be trusted with that knowledge because surely Voldemort could find a way to keep Harry out of his head know that he knew, but he hadn’t. Whether he meant to or not, the Dark Lord had showed a trust in Harry that had to be returned. And Harry did trust him, sitting by the man’s feet as Voldemort carded fingers through his hair and spoke to him as if they were equals. There was still a lingering fear, a worry of the man and his abilities, but now at least Harry trusted that Lord Voldemort wouldn’t change his mind and dispose of him upon his return. Voldemort wanted him, as a servant, a friend maybe, for keeps. And Harry would be proud to call the man his Lord. 

How, he wondered, could he serve his Lord and be ashamed to love someone who likewise followed Voldemort. He couldn’t he knew, but Lucius didn’t know of his epiphany, and he continued to wait, face hidden by his mask, but Harry could see the way his lips pressed together tightly in worry. So Harry did, not what Lucius had been waiting for, but something that answered his question nonetheless. 

He pulled the Death Eater down for a kiss, spreading his legs beneath the sheets so that Lucius could press closer to him, slotting himself against Harry’s body like two puzzle pieces. “I love you.” Harry told him, simple and straightforward. 

“I love you too.” Lucius breathed, relieved, before pulling Harry into another kiss. “The others are waiting for you outside. Hurry, go with them and hide.” Lucius told him, pulling himself off of Harry and pulling the boy after him. “Go, be safe.” 

Harry made his way to the door, glancing over his shoulder as Lucius pulled back the hood to tie back his hair, before pulling it up again, hiding everything distinguishing about himself beneath the black cloth that was uniform for the followers of the Dark Lord. 

Neither Wizard noticed that the twins had once more been listening in on their conversation through the door in the tent. 

_XXX_

September 1st 1994. 

Sirius brought Harry to King’s Cross Station. Remus didn’t come with them, apparently Dumbledore wanted him to go on an errand of some sort for him, probably to do with the riot at the Quidditch World Cup because that was all anybody was talking about lately. There was no Dark Mark in the sky, no deaths, nothing to prove that this was Voldemort’s doing, but the tingling in Harry’s scar after Evan and Lucius had returned to Malfoy Manor told enough about the Dark Lord’s pleasure for Harry to know it had been the case. 

Harry didn’t say anything about it though. The twins didn’t either, they simply went home with the Portkey before the Malfoy’s did, their mouths shut and their eyes narrowed in contemplation. 

“Well,” Sirius said hesitantly reaching out to pull Harry into a hug. “Have a good year, kiddo. Write to me, yeah? Or come back for Yule?” 

That was the strange thing about Sirius. As much as he said he despised the Pureblood propaganda, he still followed all of the old ways, even Remus did sometimes, but then they stopped completely any time they had guests as if they were ashamed of their beliefs and traditions. Harry had asked him why once, and Sirius had simply shrugged, not knowing what to say. 

“Yeah, maybe. I’ll see.”

Harry turned away. He spotted them immediately. Theodore, Draco, and Hermione were standing together at the entrance to one of the compartments of the Hogwarts Express. The adults were gone, having dropped them off some time ago, and the trunks were already stowed away, but they waited for him at the doorway anyway, just to make sure he wouldn’t miss them. 

Harry waved goodbye to Sirius, and made his way towards his friends. It was time to go home. 

**XXX**

 

1 – FYI, the grandparent thing? I’m not saying this is Mpreg before anyone gets in arms about it. Harry could easily be seeing a girl as far as Sirius is concerned. Just so you know. 

2 – The Walrus and the Carpenter, “Through the Looking Glass”, Lewis Carroll.

3 – This date was from the HP Lexicon. But Google says it should be the 22nd, but since I had the scene before written first, I’m leaving it this way. Similarly, Voldemort has been more active in this story than in canon, so he rescued Barty himself, along with Evan (it’s one of the things they were working on, but it’s not really that important overall). 

And yes, I really need to work on Through the Looking Glass, but I actually sent my notes back tucked into a library book FML.


	41. Chapter 40

**Words:** 2,824  
 **Chapter 40**  
September 1st 1994. Hogwarts. 

Harry wasn’t sure what had started it, because one minute he, Draco and Theo had been making their way across the courtyard on the way to the Slytherin common room and the next Draco and Ron were seconds away from a fist fight. And Draco hated physical fighting; as far as he was concerned it was a wand duel or dishonour, but there he was with his fists raised and a sneer on his face, moments away from lunging at Ron. 

“Oi!” Someone shouted. Ron spun around to see who had called them, visibly wilting in place as their new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher came half-running half-hobbling across the courtyard behind them. 

Draco, who had prepared himself to dive at Ron, found himself with the momentum to go, but no desire to. At the sight of the professor, he tried to stop himself, and ended up stumbling three steps forward before he managed to balance himself again. But that seemed to be enough for Mad-Eye Moody. Alastor raised his wand, his one good eye narrowed as the magical glass eye spun wildly in the other socket, and he pointed it at Draco. 

“Think you’re clever, eh, attacking someone from behind?” With a wave of Moody’s wand, Draco was gone. Harry glanced around wildly, and Theodore dropped to his knees to scoop up the small, white thing that climbed out from between Draco’s discarded robes. “That’ll teach you, boy!”

Theo held the ferret tight against his chest. Ron watched them, his face red but his eyes bright and he couldn’t keep himself from laughing at Malfoy’s expense even if he wanted to. “What the hell?” Harry shouted, pulling his own wand out of his pocket. 

“Put that away, Mr Potter,” Professor McGonagall exclaimed, appearing behind them with her own wand drawn. “Alastor, we do not preform full body transfigurations on the students!”

“But…” the older man started to protest, but McGonagall raised her wand again. 

“We do not-”

“Practise full body transfigurations on the students, I heard you the first time,” the man sulked, clearly pouting. He tucked his own wand away, folding his arms loosely in front of his stomach and hanging his head. 

Minerva looked down at the pile of robes on the floor and then up at the shaking ball of fur in Theo’s arms and sighed. “Well, unless you fancy bearing yourself before the rest of the school, I suggest your friends bring you to the hospital wing, Mr Malfoy. I will be along shortly, now shoo.” She turned away from them, her wand moving sharply to whack Moody on the arm. “And you! It’s time we had a talk about what is and what is not proper behaviour for a Professor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Come along.”

Moody followed her, his head bowed. The scars on his face shifted and rolled as he made faces at McGonagall’s back, all the while keeping his eyes downcast and his arms folded before him. Harry glanced over his shoulder, watching them walk away. There was something very familiar about that mad. It wasn’t the way he walked, because no one Harry knew had a limp like that, or the way he looked because honestly who could forget someone who looked like that, but the way he carried himself, the way he kept his eyes averted while speaking to McGonagall but not with Draco, to the one in the position of power. It was… familiar. Harry thought that maybe he had been in a situation like that before, obviously not with his transfigurations professor, but with someone else maybe, and himself: one revered above the other? But then they were out of sight, and Harry pushed them out of his mind, ignoring Ron who stood alone in the courtyard as everyone walked away from him. 

“Hey Draco.” Harry leaned down to run his fingers softly along the ferret’s neck. “Will your father hear about this?” Theo and Harry snickered softly, and Draco glanced up, his teeth bared and not at all impressed with being laughed at.

 _XXX_

September 14th 1994. 

Their classes had been what they always were. They had sat in the usual groups, taken lunch with the usual friends, and even studied at their usual table in the library. One difference with this year so far however was that Hermione had finally discovered the existence of house elves, and Harry had been fortunate enough to sit through a lecture on slavery and abuse and human rights on his fourth day back at Hogwarts. 

Another oddity was Alastor Moody. According to the _Daily Prophet_ last week, Moody had called the Aurors out to his home, insisting he was being attacked by Death Eaters. Harry knew it was possible, but no one else believed him, the paper even went as far as to call him a blatant alcoholic, and the fact that he walked around Hogwarts taking swigs of out a never emptying hipflask didn’t help his reputation much. He had obviously survived the attack, if there even was one, since he was at Hogwarts, but his classes were something else that had shook up the school this year. 

Moody was teaching the Dark Arts. 

Alastor had spent the first class lecturing and the next carrying out a pseudo-test, shouting questions and expecting people to know the answers based on the previous weeks lecture. The Slytherin’s all did well, having the relevant Dark Arts knowledge anyway, and the Ravenclaw’s faired alright considering they had actually taken notes but the Gryffindors minus Hermione, who also took notes, failed that class. Harry had heard that at least three Hufflepuffs had left the class in tears, but that could be anything from fact to fiction so he didn’t put much stock in it. The third Defence class had been spent watching a demonstration of each of the Unforgivables on magically-enlarged spiders. It wasn’t fun, but it had been interesting. This time, the rumour was that Neville Longbottom had fainted before running out of the room in tears (because according to the Hogwarts rumour mill he didn’t need time to wake up in between the actions). 

But this class, their fourth, had all of the fourth years squished into the one room together, which made a change from being stuck with Hufflepuff or Slytherin on rotation. It was a bit of a crush, but Harry had managed to snag a whole desk, albeit at the front of the room, where he sat with Hermione to one side of him, and Draco, Theo and Blaise Zabini on the other. Crabbe and Goyle, two sort-of-friends of Draco’s stood beside the bench, and two other Ravenclaws stood silently beside where Hermione sat. 

All of Harry’s hard work in saving seats went to waste the moment Moody walked into the room. 

“Everybody up. Up, now. Line up against the walls. I’m going to call your names, one by one in no particular order and I’m going to tell you to do something and you’re going to do it.” The magical eye swivelled in its socket, glancing around at the students who watched him warily even as they shuffled to the back of the room. “You don’t need to be a Ravenclaw to figure out _how_ I’m going to make you do what I want, so, first up… Ronald Weasley. Yes, you,” Moody called sounding annoyed as Ron glanced around fearfully and had to be shoved back to the front of the room, “with the red hair and poor robes, come here. _Imperio_.” 

He didn’t speak out loud, so no one knew what Ron was going to do until he’d done it. They didn’t have to wait long. After three seconds Ron pulled down his trousers and his boxers and flashed the entire class. 

“Sit down. _Finite Incantatem_. Next, Michael Corner.” They went through nearly all of the fourth years, with the exception of the Slytherins who seemed to have been shuffled to the end of the list, by the time Harry was called. 

_Bow to me, Harry. Submit to me…_ The voice inside of his head hissed, low and seductive but not quite the same as when Voldemort hissed at him. 

**No** , Harry thought back, **Not to you**. 

After a moment, the voice changed, dropping in pitch sounding almost breathy when it spoke this time. _Then crawl to me, Harry, sit at my feet. You want to, I know you do, you want to feel my fingers run through your hair. You like that_. 

Harry had unconsciously found himself with his knees bent, as if he were about to fall to them, when his consciousness broke through. His head snapped up and he glanced suspiciously at Alastor Moody, noticing the way the man’s tongue snuck out to wet the corner of his lips before he took a gulp from that hipflask. How did he knew know that? How had he found out about that? Harry had sat at Voldemort’s feet over the summer, spending the night at Riddle Manor as the Dark Lord carded his fingers through Harry’s hair uncontested. Harry had liked it. But no one but Evan and that other Death Eater had been there, unless, this man wasn’t a Legilimens was he? 

_Bow. To. Me._ The voice was angry now, desperate and furious, but Harry refused to yield, not to someone he didn’t trust, not to someone who might hurt him. He had one Lord, one father, and one lover: this man was none of them. 

“No.” Harry told him, back straight and eyes narrowed. He had his hands clenched at his sides, shaking lightly but he stared the professor down, not dropping his gaze until Moody did. 

A smile tugged at Moody’s scarred lips, and he waved Potter away. “Draco Malfoy. Ah, Lucius’ boy, yes? I remember Lucius, yes I do.” He asked as Draco sauntered his way to the front of the class. He didn’t sound too fond of the man however, that was to be expected, being that Moody was an old Auror and Lucius a Death Eater. 

Harry stood beside Hermione, who was glancing him over curiously, wondering how he had managed what no other student in the class had so far. Harry had fought off the _Imperious Curse_ , he hadn’t even made a fool of himself before doing so, or injured himself like the Hufflepuff who was told to stand on his head and nearly broke his neck trying not to. He was the only one so far to resist. He was the _only_ one, because by the end of the class no other had managed it, not even Draco. 

“ _Imperio_!” Moody called, his wand pointed at Draco. 

The boy’s face went blank for a moment, and then he surged into action. Harry didn’t have a chance to react before Draco was on him, hands on his neck and face, shoving him back against the wall and knocking Eloise Midgen to the floor. Draco’s mouth was against his, harsh and demanding and nothing like Lucius’ kisses, and the boy’s actions were stiff and jerky, like a puppet on a string, but there was something in Draco’s eyes as they kissed that screamed at him. Harry tried to push him off, tried to close his mouth off to Draco’s tongue but then those hands squeezed around Harry’s neck again and he went limp, yielding to the kiss and the way Draco pressed their bodies together and ground his erection into Harry’s hip. 

“ _Finite Incantatem_ ,” Moody whispered softly, wondering if Malfoy would keep kissing if he hadn’t heard the counter-spell being cast. 

He didn’t. Draco sprung away as if burned, his face red and his eyes tearing up. He glanced at Harry with wide eyes, his bottom lips trembling before he turned and stalked out of the classroom. He didn’t glance in Moody’s direction as he left, but he caught Ron snickering out of the corner of his eyes. He couldn’t punish a professor, but a Weasley was fair game, he thought, hexing the boy as he left the room, his wand up his sleeve to make sure that no one saw who shouldn’t. 

Harry watched him leave. Moody watched Harry. 

_XXX_

September 22nd 1994. 

Dumbledore was giving an announcement but honestly Harry wasn’t listening. Draco had avoided him for the past week, and had only recently decided to talk to him again, and Harry was too busy listening to Draco apologize for molesting his father’s lover to listen to Dumbledore natter on. 

“I told you, it wasn’t your fault!” Harry smiled softly at him, reaching out to squeeze his arm. They were sitting at the Ravenclaw table, where Harry had been waiting patiently for dinner before Draco strolled over and dropped down beside him in a repeat of earlier that morning. 

“Nonetheless my behaviour was deplorable and not at befitting of the House of Malfoy. Father would be greatly displeased if he knew.”

“Well he doesn’t.” Harry didn’t get a chance to say more because suddenly the entire student population was in an uproar. People were whispering over Dumbledore, shouting over each other, and generally ignoring the rest of the Headmaster’s speech. Harry glanced around, frowning slightly. “What did I miss?” Draco shrugged. 

Roger Davis, Harry’s Quidditch captain and a sixth year answered him, leaning across the table so Harry could hear. “They’re bringing the Tri-Wizard Tournament back to Hogwarts this year. Mind you, they’re cancelling Quidditch which is outrageous if you ask me, and implementing an age restriction of seventeen.” He shrugged lightly, though he still looked annoyed at the ban on Quidditch. 

“But didn’t people die in the last one?” Harry asked. He had read a mention of it in Hogwarts: A History, but he had never bothered to go searching for more information. He only knew that it was a competition between schools which had been banned because of a high level of participant deaths. 

“In every other one at least, if they weren’t killed they were maimed or injured. One guy even got tortured first back in 1708, he mis-apparated and ended up in the clutches of the current Dark Lord who thought he was a spy. They got bits of him back, but well, you know. I, for one, am glad for the age line. Imagine the amount of first year Gryffindors that would probably try and enter,” Benjamin added. Chambers was also on the Quidditch team, and they and Adam Bradley were nice enough to Harry in school but the boy didn’t hear from them at all outside of Hogwarts. They weren’t friends. They were Quidditch team mates and that was all. Harry was surprised the sixth years were talking to him now considering this years’ Quidditch was cancelled. 

When the Hall quietened down, Dumbledore continued with his announcement. “Students from Durmstrang Institute and the Beauxbatons Academy will be arriving towards the end of October. I expect each and every one of you to welcome them into our school and to show them real Hogwarts hospitality, understood?” There were a chorus of agreements to that statement, and then Dumbledore announced that dinner could begin. Food appeared on the table, and as Harry helped himself, a lone owl swooped into through an open window and glided down to rest beside him. 

Harry glanced at the owl, and the letter it carried. It was unusual to receive post this late, unless it was from Evan asking to meet in the Forbidden Forest (which was no longer a regular occurrence) or bad news. Harry wondered which it was, and then he saw the familiar handwriting, simply reading ‘Harry’, and he knew who it was from. It was in the tail of the ‘y’ and the way he had crossed the two lines of the ‘h’ so that it joined up as part of the ‘a’, but it was the same as with the letter he had received with the deluminator. It was Voldemort’s writing, and Harry suddenly couldn’t breathe. What if something had happened to Evan, to Lucius, Voldemort? What if something had gone wrong? 

But the letter only contained two words. Harry tried to pass it off as a coincidence, tried to pretend the letter could have arrived at any other time, but Filch chose that moment to drag two more chairs to the Head Table, for the professors of the other schools, and Harry couldn’t deny he knew exactly what Voldemort meant. 

Age restriction my arse, Harry thought, glancing back down at the letter. 

“What does it say?” Draco asked, not liking the way Harry had gone pale just before he opened it. The blond tugged the letter towards himself, and Harry let him, because Draco wouldn’t know what it meant unless Harry chose to explain. “‘Prepare yourself’?” Draco read off the parchment, before glancing back up at his friend with wide, grey eyes. “For what?” 

Harry didn’t answer him. 

**XXX**

1 – also spelt Midgeon.


	42. Chapter 41

**Words:** 4,516  
 **Chapter 41**  
October 4th 1994. Hogsmeade.

“Who do you think will win the first Quidditch match?” Theodore asked, turning his head to the side so that he could see Draco properly. Harry followed a little ways behind them, Crabbe and Goyle following behind him. The five of them made up one of the many groups venturing into Hogsmeade that day, and each of them clutched their permission slips firmly in their hands. Harry’s form no longer bore the forged signature of Vernon Dursley on it; instead it was signed with an elegant flourish, in purple ink, pompously reading “the infamous Sirius Black”. Harry was rather pleased by it. 

Draco handed his form over first, giving Filch a disdainful glance as the man began checking each form. The elder man handed the sheets back once he was done, ordering the children to keep them safe for the next Hogsmeade visit. 

“Slytherin obviously!” Draco said once Filch was behind them, already checking the next group of departing students. 

“Well, what if they’re playing Ravenclaw next? Don’t you think Harry might be a little better than our own Seeker?” 

“What does it matter?” Harry butted in, scowling. “Quidditch is cancelled this year.”

“Harry!” Both Theo and Draco shouted, turning simultaneously to pin him with twin dirty looks. 

“If we can’t have real Quidditch we must settle for the virtual equivalent. The Weasley twins have already started a betting pool of who _would_ have won if it weren’t for the Tournament.” Draco ran a hand through his blond hair, offering Harry a half smile before adding, “I’m betting for Slytherin. No offence mate.”

“How do they pick the winner?” Crabbe asked, pushing his way past Harry so that he could see Draco clearly. 

Theodore chuckled, rolling his eyes. He wasn’t a fan of the two burly Purebloods, but they had known Draco since they were born and Draco made a habit of letting them follow him around and helping them with their homework in exchange. “The Champion, once they’re picked, determines the Quidditch winner for the year. If, say, a Slytherin is picked for Hogwarts, then Draco and whoever else chose Slytherin will win the bet.”

“What if a Ravenclaw is picked?” Harry slyly asked. He looked up at his two friends through his fringe, taking in their confused expressions and wondering if Voldemort’s note was enough of a clue for him to assume so much. Maybe he was overthinking things again? Maybe it was nothing? 

“What Ravenclaw in their right mind would give up exams in order to fight for their life in the Tri-Wizard Tournament?” Draco scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“What if they had no choice?” Harry continued testing the waters. If he wasn’t wrong, he’d like to know now how his friends would react so that he wouldn’t be taken by surprise later. He really didn’t like surprises. 

“Everyone has a choice. No one can force you to put your name in the Goblet of Fire!” Theo laughed lightly, as if the very idea was preposterous. But Harry knew it was a possibility, at least for him, but before he could bring it up again someone cleared their throat, and all five boys turned in the direction of the Hogs Head. 

“Fancy seeing you here, Mr Potter.” 

“Lucius!” Harry exclaimed, just as Draco nodded regally and said, “father.”

“I hope you have no objections to me spiriting Mr Potter away for an hour or so, hmm boys?” No body protested, and so Lucius reached out with a small smile to take Harry’s hand in his own. 

They entered the Hogs Head alone, and the boys continued down the street until they came to Zonkos. They disappeared together inside the shop, and Lucius lead Harry towards a table in the centre of the pub. 

“Wouldn’t over there be a little more private?” Harry asked, pointing to a shadowy corner. The barman watched them, his eyes narrowed slightly, and he tugged a hand through his beard worriedly half wondering if he should go over and rescue the young boy. 

“Right here is fine, Harry.” Lucius took his hand again, pulling it up to his mouth for a kiss. Harry smiled at him, wide and open, and Lucius found himself smiling back. 

“Draco kissed me!” He blurted accidentally. Aberforth was beside their table, two menus held out, but his arm seemed to freeze as Lucius’ eyes narrowed. The menus were dropped unnoticed onto the table, and Aberforth reached for his wand as Lucius squeezed the edge of the table harshly. “It wasn’t his fault though! Our new Defence professor is a bit fond of teaching the Unforgivables, and we were testing the _Imperious_ , and well, it’s a bit hard to push off. I managed though! But Draco didn’t, and I just wanted you to know. But he feels really bad, so don’t tell him you know ok?” 

“He didn’t wish to kiss you?” Lucius asked slowly, feeling far calmer once Harry gave him an enthusiastic nod. “Well, there seems only one more thing to say on the matter. Whose kiss was better, Harry, his… or mine?” And without giving Harry a chance to answer, Lucius tugged him across the table and pressed their mouths together. It was all tongue and teeth and jealousy, but Harry wove his hands through Lucius’ hair and moaned loudly ignoring the flashes of the cameras that had materialised around them. 

“Yours,” Harry whispered once Lucius let him go. “Definitely yours.”

 _XXX_

October 7th 1994. Hogwarts. 

The Great Hall was in an uproar when Harry finally made his way there. He strolled in for breakfast around the time the first groups would usually be leaving, but was rather shocked to find that the room was still packed to bursting. No one was making any move to leave. Instead they were glancing between themselves and their copies of the _Daily Prophet_ , and as the doors opened nearly everyone turned to see who was coming inside. 

“It’s Harry!”

“Harry!”

“Ask him if it’s true!”

“Harry is it true?”

The Ravenclaw glanced around uneasily, feeling as if someone had dropped him into the middle of a play without telling him his lines. He unfroze himself after glancing in Draco’s direction and made his way to the Slytherin table hesitantly. 

“What happened? What have I done?” 

Draco pushed a cup of tea into Harry’s hands before handing him the paper. The front page was nothing more than the newspaper’s title header and a photo that took up the rest of the double sheet. It was of Lucius and Harry, in the Hogs Head, kissing furiously with Lucius pulling Harry half across the small table that separated them. Vaguely Harry remembered cameras flashing, but he hadn’t really thought about it until now, until this picture had opened his eyes to the possibility that people had seen them, that people knew. 

“Read it,” Theodore suggested, opening the paper up while Harry’s fingers fumbled to help him. 

“The prestigious Lord and Wizard, Lucius Malfoy, was seen last Hogsmeade weekend kissing our very own Saviour, Harry Potter, in front of numerous witnesses at the Hogs Head pub. The pub, owned and staffed by Aberforth Dumbledore, is notorious for its shady clientele, and this reporter worries about the mere fact that a Hogwarts student was even allowed inside. Fortunately, Lucius Malfoy was there to protect him.” Harry glanced up at his friends, and then over to the Headmaster who shared the same name as the man who had eventually broken up their kissing and brought them their food. Everyone seemed to be staring at him, and Harry swallowed nervously, before looking back down at the paper that didn’t seem to be saying anything of importance. Until one line in particular jumped out at him. 

“Lucius Malfoy was quoted, two days ago, outside of the Ministry of Magic, as having entered into amiable separation proceedings with his current, soon-to-be ex-wife, Narcissa Malfoy nee Black, and is planning on Courting Harry Potter into a future marriage.” The article continued, wishing well and then contradicting itself by wondering what Malfoy could see in a child or what Harry was using Lucius for. But Harry barely took in those words. 

“Your parents are getting a divorce because of me?” He glanced up at Draco who was sure to hate him now, only to find the boy smiling softly at him. 

“I don’t know how Muggles do it, Harry, but Wizards don’t get divorced. They’re separating. Because they married due to a contract, and it wasn’t a love match, once the separation period is completed, the marriage is considered to be annulled. Father can, therefore, get married again, as can mother, without judgement or ridicule because it’s as if the first marriage didn’t exist. Legally, of course it did, or I wouldn’t be able to inherit anything. But as a matter of honour, both of my parents would be considered pure. No one wants to marry somebody else’s cast off, unless they’re widowed of course. But this way, it’d be impolite to mention the previous marriage outside of the immediate family, and so no one can hold it against them.”

“It sounds complicated.” Harry whispered, glancing back at the photo of them kissing. 

“Maybe you should ask Lucius for some books? Evan will probably quiz you all about marriage customs next time you see him!” Theodore teased. He had found it inordinately amusing when Harry had told him that Evan refused to explain what a house elf was the first time Harry had met one. Instead Harry had to ask questions and research and hope that by the time Evan asked he would know the answer. It was no surprise really that Harry had ended up in Ravenclaw. 

“No need.” Draco pointed at the ceiling, where the post owls were sweeping inside a few minutes late. Not that it mattered, because no one had left the hall. Lucius’ owl was amongst them, followed closely by Hedwig. 

Harry took Hedwig’s note first. It was from Evan, and he didn’t sound too impressed by the sound of it. Mostly though, it was a request for future important information to be directed to him personally and not through the morning mail, despite the fact that he was living at Malfoy Manor with the separating couple who still hadn’t thought to inform him. Harry hadn’t known, and he wrote that back, but he accepted the “p.s. congratulations” without comment. He took the package from the second owl then, running his fingers lightly over his head in thanks. 

“He sent me books on marriage customs. He’s even earmarked the pages I need to read.” Harry gave a soft laugh, pushing away his tea and pulling out the first book. “Courting gifts,” he read out loud from the first page that was marked. “Is this a courting gift? Because it’s given publically? Even though Lucius has given me plenty of things before?”

“Yes. Because it is public, because it is being made known that you have been given it. It is if you accept it.” Draco told him softly. 

“How do I accept it?” Harry began to read, not looking up at the grin on Theo’s face, or the glares Ron and Ginny were sporting over at the Gryffindor table. 

“You already have,” Draco told him, waving his hand at the book that Harry had already put to use. “Congratulations. I hope you’re both happy together.”

Harry smiled up at him in thanks. As he was ducking his head again, he caught Snape looking down on him with the oddest expression he had ever seen the man wear. If Harry hadn’t known better, he would have sworn that Snape looked worried for him. But that wasn’t possible. Hell would freeze over before Severus Snape would give a shit about him, so Harry scoffed lightly at his own ridiculous thoughts, and went back to utilizing Lucius’ first public gift to him. 

Snape continued to watch Lily’s son. He had known Lucius for a very long time, and he knew what kind of man Lucius was. Despite his claims to innocence, Lucius was a real Death Eater, cruel and proud and loyal to a fault, and because of that despite their friendship Severus couldn’t help but feel a little sick at the thought of the man going anywhere near the son of the woman he loved. 

He had gotten her killed. He had promised he would let nothing happen to her only child: that included from Lord Voldemort, Albus Dumbledore and now Lucius Malfoy. Whether Harry wanted his protection or not, he was getting it, Snape thought, scowling down at the Slytherin table where the current bane of his existence sat unaware of his stare. 

_XXX_

October 19th 1994. 

Defence Against the Dark Arts continued its trend of that year, each class as insane as the last. Harry found it rather interesting; sure the professor was mad as a hatter, and he kept casting the _Imperious_ on Harry without warning, but still, they were learning more than they’d learnt any other year so far (well, barring Remus Lupin, who had turned Harry off of the subject with his incessant stories about the Marauders). Also, Ron Weasley still hadn’t lived down his own incident, involving the whole of fourth year and him dropping his trousers. It was little things like that that made Harry overlook the continued mental insistence that he bow. 

“Potter!” Moody shouted. A hand fell on Harry’s arm just as he was about to pass through the door. Harry let himself be tugged backwards, turning to glance over his shoulder at his professor who was dragging him to the other side of the class. “Malfoy, Nott, out now!” Alastor called again. 

Harry nodded at them, and they left while casting wary glances at each other. “What’s the matter, sir?” Harry asked. He folded his arms across his chest, watching with narrowed eyes as Moody pulled the stopper on the flask that he usually carried on his hip and took a long gulp of whatever was inside. He offered it towards Harry, but the tightening on scarred fingers on the flask made Harry think that the man didn’t really want to share with him. The brunette shook his head, wrinkling his nose at the strange smell that was suddenly in the room. The cork was back in the flask, and with it the smell was gone. “What is it?”

“Medicine,” Moody told him gruffly. From the sickly smell of it, Harry would well believe it. But there was something also very familiar about it, but he wasn’t sure what. What was it about that smell that made him so curious? 

“Sir?” Harry asked, “Are you ill?”

“Not at all, Potter,” Moody told him, a wide grin on his face. Harry glanced away from his bared teeth, and turned back just as a sheet of parchment was thrust into his face. “I made you an itinerary. I have had few promising students, even in the Auror Corps, and it wouldn’t do to waste true potential now that I’ve discovered it.”

“I don’t want to be an Auror,” Harry protested. Moody ignored him, continuing to speak as if Harry hadn’t made a sound. He shook the itinerary, and Harry finally reached out for it. 

“I thought we’d start with the summoning spell. Incantation, _Accio_ , flick and swish, Mr Potter, on three.” 

Harry glanced over the list almost an hour later, once Moody had finally managed to beat the spell into Harry’s wrist movements correctly. Apparently, he had a problem swishing before he flicked rather than after! The summoning spell; the properties of Gillyweed; a handful of useful, sixth level defensive spells; information on Portkeys; a selection of riddles he was to memorize; Harry could barely comprehend the content that Alastor wanted to teach him. How much use would this be in any of his exams? Even if he could apply a few of the spells or principles, he wouldn’t be tested on that kind of material for another two or three years at least!

“Potter!” Moody called, swigging from his flask again. “What are you like at crying on demand?” 

“What?” Harry turned, frowning, and took his hand off the door knob. Moody was leaning back against his desk, arms crossed and his wooden leg sticking straight out awkwardly. “Crying?”

“Yes, it could come in handy someday, you know. Perhaps you should practise?” Moody stood then, pushing himself slowly off of the table and hobbled to the door at the back of the classroom. Presumably it led to his private quarters, and Harry watched him open the door and turn to glance back over his shoulder. “While you’re at it, consider entering the Tri-Wizard Tournament yeah?”

The door closed behind him and Harry was left in the empty classroom with his mouth hanging open and a list of everything he’d need to win the Tournament in his shaking hands. 

_XXX_

October 30th 1994. 

The Beauxbatons students had arrived first. A gigantic carriage had appeared on the horizon, flying through the sky at the back of several large winged horses. The students stepped out of the carriage and Hagrid had taken the Pegasi away to be taken care off. No one had noticed that though because immediately after the carriage had touched down on Hogwarts soil, the black lake began to ripple and writhe. A ship burst through the surface, mast first, and so on until it was floating proudly on the waves it had created. The Hogwarts students cheered and applauded, and one by one, the students of Durmstrang disembarked their ship. 

Harry watched them, twirling the promise ring that had arrived in the mail three days ago around his ring finger. One boy, Viktor Krum the Bulgarian Seeker and one of the players who had shaken Harry’s hand in the Minister’s box at the Quidditch World Cup, led the way side by side with his Highmaster. A tall blond girl seemed to take charge of Beauxbatons. Their headmistress towered over them all, but one girl was especially dwarfed. She bore a striking resemblance to the blond in the lead, and looked to only be eight years old. She obviously wasn’t there to compete. 

It was during dinner that Harry realized something else that no one had seemed to pick up on. Nearly none of the Durmstrang students were there to compete either. He had watched Viktor Krum place his name in the Goblet of Fire, once the hall had cleared after lunch: well, actually Hermione had noticed and told him. But none of the others had bothered. Whereas everyone who had come from Beauxbatons except for the little girl had placed their name in the Goblet. 

At least he knew who he’d be competing against from Durmstrang, Harry thought, eyeing Krum with curiosity and suspicion. He hoped it wasn’t a physical task, because there was no way he’d be able to take Krum in a fight. The boy was tall and broad, and so serious looking. Harry didn’t think he’d know how to take it easy on anyone, even if Harry were three years his junior. 

Harry waited after dinner until the tables were cleared and the hall was empty before approaching the Goblet of Fire. He had made sure previously to always been seen in someone else’s company, just so that no one could accuse him of anything. But this was his last chance to approach the Goblet because tomorrow at breakfast the champions would be announced. He held a scrap of paper with his name on it, and he contemplated how he was supposed to get past the age line. He had an ageing potion in his pocket that he had bullied Draco into helping him brew and he had some Polyjuice he had stolen from Snape in the other along with a fist full of hair from some seventh year he had found sleeping on the Common Room sofa last night. He just wasn’t sure which one would work the best. 

“Come on Forge! Quickly!” Someone shouted. It startled Harry, and he dropped the piece of paper. He managed to pull his invisibility cloak out of his pocket though and throw it over himself before Fred or George spotted him though. 

“I’m coming. Come on, drink the aging potion!” Harry watched them, hidden from sight, as the two boys just shy of their seventeenth birthday attempted to trick the age line. They ended up thrown across the floor, both with grey hair and beards and Harry sighed heavily because that only left him with the option of the Polyjuice which wasn’t guaranteed to work either. 

“Harry?” Fred called, reading off of the paper he had found on the floor. Harry cursed under his breath, holding as still as possible while the two boys held their hands out in front of them, searching for Harry Potter. “We’re your friends Harry, if you’re there you can come out.”

“ _Accio_ invisibility cloak!” George called, waving his hand. Nothing happened. “Maybe he isn’t here? Maybe he changed his mind about entering?”

“Why would he want to enter in the first place? He’s already famous, he’s already rich, he’s just a kid; what reason could he have?” 

“I don’t know George,” Fred shook the paper as he spoke. “But he wanted to, so why not? What could it hurt?” Before George could stop him, Fred had dropped the paper into the Goblet. It caught fire, smouldering at the edges and curling up to hide the name. Fred went flying back across the floor again, crawling to his feet with a groan. He watched disappointedly as the paper spat up into the air, turning to dust and ashes and floating back down around their heads. “Well, never mind,” Fred said with a shrug. 

George just shrugged his shoulders at him, not knowing what to say. They needed to talk to Harry; especially considering what the Prophet was writing about Harry and Malfoy now but the boy seemed to be particularly good at avoiding them. It was probably because they gave him the Marauder’s Map, George thought sourly. “Let’s get out of here.”

Harry watched them go, waiting until the doors closed before glancing at the Goblet. He would have thought Voldemort might have rigged it somehow to accept his name, but apparently the man hadn’t. And now Harry was out of time to try it himself. So much for being a Tri-Wizard Champion, Harry thought to himself as he slipped out of the Great Hall. Harry didn’t noticed Moody slip out of the shadowy alcove behind the head table, and grin as he made his way to the Goblet and dropped in his own sheet of paper. 

The Goblet accepted the parchment, the flame turning from blue to red and back again. Alastor Moody left the great hall, and Hogwarts and her inhabitants were none the wiser. 

_XXX_

October 31st 1994. 

Considering Harry had watched the entering of his name into the Goblet fail, he had been rather happy that morning convinced of the fact that despite it being Halloween which was usually a bad day for him, nothing unexpected was going to happen. It was going to be a normal breakfast, and lunch, and dinner, and all of the classes in between were going to be normal and ordinary and boring too. There would be no trolls, no crazy house elves, no werewolves, no Tri-Wizard announcements, nothing like that. 

Except… 

“Harry Potter?” Dumbledore whispered. He looked absolutely furious and a little bit scared and he kept repeating the name over and over, reading from the burnt piece of parchment clenched between his two hands. “Harry Potter? Is Harry Potter here?” 

Harry glanced in the direction the other _three_ Champions had gone, exiting the hall into a side room that also led back into the hallway. Hermione was sitting beside him that morning, and she began to furiously nudge his arm, glaring at him and nodding pointedly at the Headmaster until Harry stood up. His knees trembled and he couldn’t stop his hands shaking. He stepped towards the head table, trying to ignore the glances that he could feel on him, ignoring the way his skin crawled every time someone whispered his name. 

He should have seen this coming. He should have been expecting this. Voldemort had told him to prepare himself, and what had he done? He had assumed since _his_ own attempt to enter the tournament had failed that the plan was over, he had heard Cedric Diggory get picked as the Hogwarts champion and had let his guard down. And now he felt sick and dizzy and so very uncomfortable as Dumbledore grabbed his elbow and dragged him the rest of the way out of the hall. 

Harry managed to glance over his shoulder once before the door to the side room closed behind the Headmaster. He didn’t see some of his friends glancing worriedly in his direction, and he didn’t see most of the school glaring angrily, and he didn’t see the way the teachers were wringing their hands over their plates. But he did see the way Mad-Eye Moody was grinning, mouth stretched wide and teeth bared just before he took another sip from his hip flask. 

And Harry saw the brown and green butterfly that was perched on the edge of Moody’s plate. 

So much for ordinary, Harry thought, narrowing his eyes at Evan’s animagus form until he was out of view. Then he turned, and found him face to face with the other three champions, just before their head teachers burst into the room along with the rest of the Hogwarts teaching staff. 

“Harry,” Dumbledore exclaimed shaking him lightly by the shoulders, “did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire?” 

“No!” Harry told them, glancing at each face individually. They ranged from worried, to disappointed, to surprised, to outraged, to disgusted, but Dumbledore looked back at him with fear in his eyes. 

“Did you ask anyone to put your name into the Goblet of Fire?” 

“No,” Harry told them again, because after all it was the truth. He knew what Dumbledore was thinking, the same thing Harry was thinking, that in correlation with the attack at the World Cup, this stank of something the Dark Lord could have come up with, but Harry didn’t deny or confirm anything of the sort. Instead, he drew on some advice Alastor Moody had given him a few weeks ago, and forced tears to come to his eyes. “You do believe me, don’t you sir?” He asked, his bottom lip trembling between the words. One fat tear escaped his eye and slid down his cheek. 

“Yes, I believe you, Harry.” Dumbledore pulled Harry into a quick hug, and the boy let him, hiding his smile in the old man’s beard. He was usually so bad at lying, but Albus seemed to have believed him. Behind them, Moody grinned again, and perched on the top of his head a butterfly spread its brown and green wings and took flight. 

**XXX**

For a while there I forgot who Harry was living with. I was like, ahh I killed Vernon so who signed his permission form for Hogsmeade DERP! But then I remembered lol.


	43. Chapter 42

I have some mega exams in about 4 weeks, so I really need to study (and yet all I seem to do is work, work, work, fml)(and I really want to update Redemption Songs [and about 6 FrostIron plots are begging to be started] but I physically have to force my hands away from the keyboard)... 

So. Have Butterfly instead...

 

 **Words:** 4,044  
 **Chapter 42**  
November 3rd 1994. Hogwarts. 

The first two days of November had gone by in a blur of angry accusations and forced tears. Neither head teacher of the other schools believed Harry’s declarations of innocence, but with the majority of the teaching staff backing him up (even Snape! Snape of all people, mind you the man had said he was too _stupid_ to trick the Goblet but still) there wasn’t much they could do about it. 

Bartemius Crouch and Ludo Bagman had been called to the school. They were the Ministry workers who were supposed to be overseeing the running of the Tri- now Four-Wizard Tournament, but each had their own excuses for missing the name calling debacle. Bagman had insisted it was simply a mistake; that everyone should re-enter their names and the Tournament should just be started again. Crouch was adamant that there was no getting around it, someone (since Harry was adamant it wasn’t him) had entered the boy’s name, not as an underage Hogwarts student, but as a member of a fourth school, which did not exist in Europe at all, who was of age to meet the requirements. Whoever had tricked the Goblet had done an outstanding job, and Harry had spent that particular meeting glaring holes in Alastor Moody. 

It would have been considered cheating to admit that he had only allowed Viktor Krum to enter his name and actively discouraged the others from doing the same, and so Karkaroff had insisted the Tournament go ahead on the grounds that “it vouldn’t be right to potentially loose Vhiktor his place in history as this year’s vinner!” 

Fleur had agreed completely, talking over her headmistress, and insisting that she didn’t want to risk someone else being picked over her. If Harry had to participate, she was happy enough to beat him along with the other two male contestants. Cedric hadn’t said much of anything. He had given Harry the odd curious look every now and then, from the corner of his eyes. He believed Harry, because Harry wasn’t the type to lie and Harry wasn’t a Slytherin, but on the other hand this boy was a _Ravenclaw_ and one of the top scorers in his year and Cedric was meant to participate _against_ him? It wasn’t something he would actively agree to do, and so he backed up Madame Maxime and asked for their names to be re-drawn. 

But in the end, after two days of being forced into a cramped room with one another, they had finally come around to Crouch’s way of thinking. Harry Potter was now one of two Hogwarts Champions, and there was nothing he or anyone else could do about it. 

Harry wasn’t exactly impressed by this of course, but what Voldemort wanted apparently Voldemort got. Harry should have known better than to assume otherwise. 

But what Harry wanted, more than to get out of the Tournament, was to see how his friends had reacted. He hadn’t seen them since his name got called and he was exempted from classes until the next day, which meant that he’d miss a full three days of the schools’ reactions. Harry guessed it was probably bad, because the Ravenclaw boys in his dorm had been avoiding him: they were asleep by the time Dumbledore escorted him to his dorm last night and the night before and they were awake and gone by the time Professor Flitwick woke him up each morning. Even Stephen Cornfoot, the Mudblood that Harry had tormented in their first year for being unbelievably lazy, was awake before Harry. He could only surmise that the others were waking Cornfoot, but not him, in some pointless act of spite. Not that it mattered, of course. 

Lucius and Evan mattered, and both knew what was happening and why. Sirius would likely worry more than he’d be angry, and Harry knew the man would happily place the blame on Voldemort’s shoulders than believe Harry did this purposely and lied about it, (mind you, even if Harry admitted to having done this himself the man would probably be ecstatic at the idea of Harry turning into a prankster like his father). Draco and Theodore mattered and Harry had already tried to test the waters with them in Hogsmeade before being interrupted by Lucius, and he worried about how they’d react. He worried a lot. Then, there was Hermione to consider. She wasn’t really his friend, well, maybe she was, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted her to be. Would it really matter to him if she was angry with him as well? Probably, but enough to do anything about it? Probably not, he reasoned, because he could hardly outright tell her that the Dark Lord had insisted he compete like he could with Draco and Theo. Their fathers were Death Eaters, they understood, but Hermione wouldn’t. Hermione never would. Hermione would never fully be his friend until she could understand, and she couldn’t not really, not being who she was, but Harry still inconceivably found himself worried by her reaction. 

It would really suck if all of his friends hated him. 

“Harry,” Draco greeted him rather coolly outside of the Great Hall. Theodore was by his side, with Pansy Parkinson standing in the middle of them, where Harry should have been. The boy narrowed green eyes on her, but she simply turned her nose up at him and smirked. 

“Leave, Parkinson.” Harry scowled at her, reaching forward to shove her lightly, hoping she’d get the hint. He had never liked her, she was nosy and clingy and too much of a gossip to be trusted even a little. It didn’t help that she was convinced she was in love with Draco and they were going to be married and have lots of little Malfoy-pug-faced-babies: well, maybe she’d grow out of the pug-faced-thing, but still it made Harry cringe just thinking about it. 

Draco shook his arm lightly, and the hand that Pansy had resting on it dislodged. She glanced between Draco and Harry and scowled harder before striding away without a word. “You could have told us,” Draco muttered angrily, glaring at Harry through slitted eyes. 

“We wouldn’t have told anyone!” Theo hissed. He didn’t look as angry as Draco did, but then again, Draco did love to be the centre of attention and know everything before anyone else did. 

“What the fuck?” Harry murmured, more to himself than to his friends because they weren’t listening. Draco was already off on another tangent, even as Harry tugged him out of the busy corridor and into an empty classroom. “I didn’t put my name in!” 

“Course you did! Why else would you ask me to help you with an ageing potion? Obviously it worked then, but you could have said something sooner! You left the hall and everybody was like, oh Draco why didn’t you tell me!? Do you know how embarrassed I was to admit that my best friend, my future step-father, hadn’t even bothered to tell me what was going on! I had no idea Harry, no idea. How dare you embarrass me like that!” Draco wasn’t shouting, because Malfoy’s didn’t shout. Instead his voice was low and cold, his eyes narrowed and the words were almost akin to hisses. Harry flinched at the sound of them, because it wasn’t like Tom or Voldemort or a snake: it was the sound of his friend’s anger and it was a horrible sound. 

“It was Voldemort!” Harry did shout though, and both of his friends flinched violently. Theo even fell back into a table, stumbling to keep his balance. “I didn’t enter the Tournament. The letter you read, Draco, to ‘prepare myself’, remember? That was from Voldemort. Evan was in the Hall when my name got called, he was sitting on Alastor Moody, and they were together in the back room where the other champions were waiting. I brought my name on parchment and I brought the potion and I tried and it failed. Ask Fred or George Weasley, they were trying to get past the age line too and it _failed_ , Draco. Evan did it. He must have, because I bloody well didn’t.” 

“Maybe it was his revenge for you not telling him about being engaged to Lucius?” Theodore suggested, straightening his tie. He looked up at Harry through his fringe. 

“I didn’t know about the engagement either. Some Ravenclaw I am, I don’t seem to know anything!” Harry was the one scowling now. 

Theo chuckled softly and Draco scuffed his shoe on the floor, trying to school his face into a mask of nonchalance. “Well, never mind that then. Tell me what happened when the Weasel twins tried?”

And just like that, Harry realized, everything was ok again. He was still a champion, and he still didn’t want to be, but his friends believed him. That evening, Harry attempted to catch up on the three days’ work he’d missed because of the whole accidently-being-a-champion-thing. He’d found himself a quiet corner in the library, ignoring the snickering and whispering around him, and the finger pointing and the blatant staring and the way everyone stopped talking if he happened to walk passed. But it didn’t matter either. What mattered was Hermione, who entered the library with a scowl, who glared at the group of gossips sitting at the table beside his own, and then who sat silently beside him. 

“Would you like a copy of my notes?” She asked softly after a few moments. 

“Yes please.” She smiled at him, and Harry couldn’t help but smile back. He wouldn’t trust her, not completely, not with all of his secrets. But this one he could let her in on, and then everything would be ok. “I didn’t do it. It was-” Harry wasn’t sure who he was going to blame. Half of him wanted to say Fred, another half wanted to blame Moody who was working with Death Eaters, as preposterous as that sounded because he was an Auror and he hated Lucius and Draco and seemed to like Harry who wasn’t known widely as Voldemort’s heir, but he never got the chance to point the finger at anyone. 

Hermione smiled softly again and said, “I know, Harry. I never doubted you for a minute.”

 _XXX_

November 13th 1994. 

Harry had received two letters that morning. One had been from Sirius. It had contained exactly what Harry had expected it to. Congratulations for pulling such a fast one, for getting one up on Dumbledore, Karkaroff, Maxime and Crouch combined. Followed quickly by the need to know he had done it himself, because otherwise they’d have a lot more to worry about than strained international relations between the schools. If it wasn’t Harry, who might it have been? Did Harry have any ideas, would Harry like him to kidnap him from school and lock him in a Gringotts vault just to be sure? 

Harry had rolled his eyes several times while reading it, but Sirius had managed to cheer him up rather well. He should have saved that letter till last, because the second one was a demand for his presence at the weighing of the wands ceremony that evening. Harry found himself instead hiding out in the Gryffindor common room with Hermione, because no one would look for him there, avoiding the ceremony completely. 

Evan had written a few days ago, denying his involvement specifically, but confirming that these actions had been Voldemort’s wishes. He had been there merely to oversee the end result of their scheming. Well, Harry thought, not quite the _end_ result, that would come later, whatever the man was planning. Evan had, however, included some condensed notes on what exactly he had been signed up for. As he hadn’t volunteered, the general consensus being he had been coerced or impersonated for one reason or another though Dumbledore didn’t seem to want to share his conclusions, Harry wasn’t bound by the same rules as the others. They _had_ to go to every Tournament related event. Harry only had to participate in the actual tasks. 

No one in Hogwarts had deemed fit to tell him that however, because if they had he might have gone, just to be civil. But instead they’d rather lie to him, force him to stand in front of crowds of people who had turned on him in the blink of an eye and that wasn’t even including that dreadful reporter he had met a few nights ago. Rita Skeeter was a piece of work, and Harry wanted to do everything he could to avoid her again. 

“I had a date with Viktor Krum. It was a study date only, but still, I thought it was nice.” Hermione said softly from beside him. “Are you going to the ceremony?”

“No. You?” Harry glanced at her, tilting his head to the side. 

“No. I think I’ll study.” Hermione opened a book onto her lap. “You can stay anyway though, Harry.”

“Thanks.” Harry pulled a sheet of parchment from his bag, and leaned over Hermione to snag one of her spare quills. It was self inking, which was great because he hadn’t brought any with him. 

**Dear Sirius,** he wrote, trying to make sure his writing was legible. It was hard to write with a quill on a thin sheet of paper across his knees, but he was managing. 

**I did not, in fact, enter my name into the Goblet. Unfortunately, the judges have decided that I have no choice but to participate. The Headmaster has his own theories, though he has declined to share them with me, perhaps you’ll have more luck considering he, Remus and yourself seem to be such good friends? I have an idea, of course, what kind of Ravenclaw would I be if I wasn’t constantly over-thinking things and driving myself mental? But I think I’ll keep it to myself as well; actually I’ll tell you if you promise not to tell! Remember Moody? He’s mental. He told me I’d make a good Auror and he’d like to give me extra lessons and then my name came out of the Goblet. Coincidence? I think not. But don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye out for myself, I promise.**

Harry stopped writing. He laid his quill on the sofa and glanced down at his letter. Now that he thought about it, that couldn’t be a coincidence. Moody was meant to be a good guy… but he was with Evan both times Harry had spotted his dad. Did he know who Evan was or did Moody think it was Tennyson Alfred who was perched on his dinner plate? It wasn’t because Moody wanted him to be an Auror though, it was too much to plan, too many variables: bringing back the tournament, making Harry a champion, getting a teaching position, giving extra lessons—there had to be more at stake than Harry’s future career here. The end game had to be something far more spectacular, something to kill for. But it couldn’t be Voldemort, could it? Not Alastor Moody, one of the greatest Dark Wizard catchers there was? 

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again. Maybe the man was under the _Imperious_? It could be something as easily explainable as that, and Harry was sitting around conjuring mad-dramatized-conspiracy theories. 

Moody was involved. No doubt. The question was why. 

**Sirius, the next Hogsmeade weekend is the twenty-first. I have a date with Lucius, but I can meet you beforehand if you wanted to see me? I miss you.**

And he did. He missed Sirius, and mentioning Lucius made him realize something else. He had never told Sirius who he was seeing, let alone that he was seeing anyone to begin with. If Evan had been annoyed at not being told about the engagement, Sirius was going to be impossible! The man probably wouldn’t even want to see him, Harry realized. He picked up his quill again with a sigh. 

**I know you’re probably angry about what was in the Prophet. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I really like Lucius, I love him and I know I’m fourteen and you probably think I don’t know what I feel, etc, etc, but I do love him. And he loves me. But I know you don’t really get on, even though he helped free you from Azkaban and I wasn’t sure how serious things were going to be between us or even if you and I would get on and I didn’t want to put a strain on either of our relationships! I’m getting married, Sirius, and I’m really happy about it. I hope you can accept my relationship. I would understand though if you didn’t want to speak to me anymore, but I’d be sorry if that were the case. If you don’t want to meet me next Hogsmeade weekend, could you at least let me know? Thanks.**

He didn’t sign his name, because Sirius would know who the letter was from. For his own peace of mind, Harry hoped his godfather wrote back soon. 

“Hey, I’m going to go find Hedwig. I’ll see you soon.”

Hermione looked up with a grin. She put down her book and walked him to the portrait hole. “I’ll go with you. That way, you’ll have someone to hide behind if Mr Crouch or the Headmaster finds you.”

“I don’t need to hide behind anyone!” Harry argued with a laugh. “I’m not hiding from anyone.”

“Really? So you weren’t hiding in the Gryffindor common room for the last hour and a half instead of attending a ceremony in your honour that you really don’t want to attend?” Hermione asked as they walked along the corridor. Harry reached out and tugged her against his side. He was attempting to rub his fist against the top of her hair, but she wiggled out of the way to fast and they ended up in some sort of awkward hug. They both huffed and laughed and pulled away grinning, before Harry reached out to bump her shoulder lightly. 

“I’m not hiding.” He insisted. 

“Sure.” Hermione smirked at him. “Sure.”

 _XXX_

November 14th 1994. 

Two things happened that morning that really caught Harry’s attention. One was something personal, something private, and the other something that everyone seemed to be privy to except Harry, because he had been distracted by the first. Sirius had written him back. Harry was so pleased by any sort of response that he had immediately pushed aside his breakfast and started reading the letter, ignoring the rest of the Great Hall. 

“Sirius can’t make the Hogsmeade weekend; he has something to do at Gringotts. But he said he’d gotten permission from Dumbledore to stay a bit after the first task to talk to me then.” Harry grinned at his Slytherin friends. They glanced back at him warily, holding up a copy of the _Prophet_ each. Harry took Draco’s copy, having completely missed the rest of the owls entering the hall, so caught up in Sirius’ response was he. “Oh what now?”

This time, the front page of the paper had been split between two separate pictures. One was of Hermione and Viktor on what obviously had been their date. They were sitting side by side, holding hands, even as Hermione read from the text book spread across her lap. Viktor couldn’t take his eyes off her. The second picture was of that awkward moment in the corridor yesterday, when Harry had tried to noogie Hermione and they had ended up hugging. The angle of the photo, however, made it appear as if they were about to kiss, and Harry scowled down at the article about “the gold-digging Mudblood Granger playing the famous Messers Viktor Krum and Harry Potter against one another in the vicious game for her heart… as if competing together in the Tournament isn’t enough excitement.” 

“How the hell did they get a photo of that?” Harry muttered. 

“More importantly, did Skeeter forget that you’re being Courted by a Malfoy? Draco, your father is going to kill her.” Theo stared at the paper with wide-eyes. “You weren’t really going to kiss her, were you, Harry?”

“Granger?” Draco scoffed, “don’t be absurd. These are both obviously falsified ph-”

“Oh they’re real,” Harry told his blond friend with a grin. “Doesn’t mean what Rita wrote about it true though. But Hermione and Viktor are dating, that bit is true. The bit about me isn’t though. Girls aren’t really my thing, and I prefer blondes, one in particular, as well you know. Can’t believe she forgot about Lucius, she was the one who leaked our relationship!” Harry twirled the platinum promise ring around on his finger. He smiled at the memory of his almost heart attack when he had opened his mail one morning and a ring had dropped out. It wasn’t an engagement ring, he couldn’t legally be engaged until he had turned fifteen, or marry until he was sixteen, but the Courting usually took a year or more anyway so that didn’t matter. All Lucius had really been doing was staking his claim on Harry, and in the most dramatic fashion he could at the time. By dropping a ring right into Harry’s stunned hands in front of the entire student population of Hogwarts. “Can’t believe she forgot.”

“I don’t think she forgot. She just wants a story, Harry. It’s stupid, really.” Theo said with a shrug. 

“Gossips,” Draco spat, glancing down the table at Pansy who had already begun to spin wild stories. “They’re all the same.” 

“Well,” Harry whispered leaning forward, “at least Skeeter gets paid for it.” 

“Doesn’t that make her a whore?” Crabbe asked, butting into the conversation. 

“Different occupation, Vince,” Draco explained easily, almost entirely used to his bodyguards-slash-friends’ less than capable mental abilities. “But they’re both equally as wretched.”

“Bet you won’t be saying that in a few years’ time, when you’re stuck with pansy and your only other options are your hand or a whore.”

“Theo!” Harry exclaimed, laughing softly. Draco scowled furiously, his face turning a deep red before he glanced away angrily. “Leave him alone before his face explodes.” Draco’s glare was quickly turned on him, but Harry couldn’t stop himself from laughing. Then he shuddered, because the thought of Parkinson was enough to terrify even him, who would never end up married to any woman, let alone her. 

“If you’re done finding amusement at my expense, very unimpressed with your behaviour mind you, we have classes to get to.” He stood, followed by Crabbe and Goyle and swept angrily away from the Slytherin table. Theo and Harry scrambled after him, still chuckling amongst themselves, but they followed him anyway because Draco would be unbearable if they didn’t give him back at least a little of his dignity. 

“Think we should leave a seat for Pansy?” Theodore asked. He didn’t dislike the girl, he had known her since childhood and considered her an acquaintance, she was still clingy and nosy and irritating. But it was just so much fun to wind Draco up. 

“Yeah, right next to Draco.”

“I can _hear you!_ ” Draco glanced over his shoulder, peering at them from between the two larger Slytherins. “And I am not impressed! Don’t you dare let her sit beside me, do you hear me! Potter, Nott, are you listening to me? Stop laughing! Stop it!” 

Draco stormed into the classroom. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, staring moodily at the wall until the seats either side of him were filled. He glanced left and then right, at Harry and then Theo, and let out a sigh of relief. “I hate you both.”

Harry grinned back at him, and Theo shrugged. “You know you love us.” Draco scoffed. 

The classroom door slammed open and shut again, and a gruff voice called Harry to stand at the front of the class. “Who wants to learn about the _Cruciatus_?” Alastor Moody asked, grinning manically, with his wand levelled at Harry Potter. “Well, any volunteers?” It was a full class of fourth years again, and once more Longbottom looked like he was going to faint. “No? Nobody? Well, go ahead Potter, _volunteer_ somebody.” 

**XXX**


	44. Chapter 43

**Words:** 4,274  
 **Chapter 43**  
November 21st 1994. Hogsmeade.1 

Harry wasn’t sure what to think of the place. It was nice, he supposed, but it was a little too _much_ at the same time. Couples were seated at tables dotted around the establishment, and streamers and silk hung as decorations from the walls and the ceiling and the balcony that circled the left side of the room. The stairs to the second floor was covered in tinsel and rose petals, and Harry frowned thinking how much worse this place would look on Valentine’s Day. 

“Seriously?” He asked Lucius, turning his head to glance over his shoulder as the elder Wizard tucked him, chair and all, into the table. 

Lucius sat himself down, carefully pulling his chair in. He offered a half smile. “Despite the news of our Courtship travelling at a speed even I did not predict, I am still forbidden from taking you off of school grounds. As this is a Hogsmeade weekend, I can meet you here, but it is as far as we’d go. The choices are rather limited, beloved.” He reached out for Harry’s hand, lifting it to his mouth and pressing a soft kiss to his palm. “Here, the Hogs Head, or the Three Broomsticks. Alternatively, we could have just stocked up on candy and hidden ourselves away in the Shrieking Shack.”

“So much choice, Lucius!” Harry exclaimed with a laugh, “so much choice, and you chose Madame Puddifoot’s? How romantic.” 

“Hmm, I do try,” Lucius said with a drawl, half-smirking up at his Harry. “What would you like, beloved? My treat.”

“It’d want to be,” Harry said, wearing a grin that clearly showed he was only messing around, “considering it’s a treat in itself for me to be here.” He glanced around the room again, taking in the jar of fireflies suspended from the ceiling, half a disco ball and half a light fixture, the waitresses who wore bright pink dresses with red robes over the top and lace and bows in their hair, and the several Hogwarts aged girls who alternated between giggling at Harry and giggling at their own partners. “Seriously?”

“Hush, you’ll have a good time, I promise.” 

It was half an hour later, as Harry worked his way through a rather large portion of treacle tart, that Lucius covered his mouth with one hand and whispered through his fingers. Harry frowned, narrowing his eyes as he tried to make out what Lucius was saying. The hand was there so that no one could lip read, and he was whispering so that no one would overhear, and Harry thought for a moment it was something to do with Voldemort, but then he heard it. It was the only two words he could make out, and perhaps they were the only two words Lucius was saying, repeated over and over.

“Task” and “dragons”.

Harry heard it, and his breath caught in his throat, along with the treacle tart he had been about to swallow. He coughed, wheezing and hacking, even as Lucius moved around to stand behind him and pat him gently on the back. “What?” He breathed at the elder Wizard. “What the fuck?”

“I’ll get the cheque. Stay here and stay silent,” Lucius whispered. He returned moments later, with a complimentary desert in a take-away box because his waitress had insisted on making up for the terrible treacle tart that had almost poisoned Harry, and his purse a few Galleons lighter. “Time to go.”

Lucius steered Harry from the tea-shop, his hand on the small of Harry’s back. 

“Well, damn. How did you know?”

“Evan,” was all Lucius would tell him. Harry shrugged, not sure what to do or say to that. Though he supposed if Moody could help him cheat why couldn’t his own father, or his fiancé-type-person? What did he call Lucius, he wondered briefly, glancing up at the man through his fringe. They weren’t engaged, not yet, not until the summer, but that was what the man was aiming for… intended? Lucius had already coined beloved as his pet word, so what did that leave Harry? Lover? Boyfriend, he thought with a grimace; it didn’t sound right at all. 

Love? 

“Lucius?”

“Yes, beloved,” the man whispered, looking down on the boy he planned to marry with a small smile. 

“Was this a Courting gift?” 

“No,” Lucius said, chuckling. “This is a date. A bad one, I admit, but there’s always room for improvement, hmm. I’d hate to out do myself the first time and never be able to live up to your expectations!” They laughed together, walking hand in hand through Hogsmeade in the lightly falling snow. 

“I love you!” Harry blurted, a blush fanning out across his cheeks. 

“I know. And I love you too, beloved, why else would I wish to marry you? For fame? I am infamous. For family? I have a wife and an heir already, beloved, but I would rather have you. For fortune? I have gold and knuts more than I know what to do with. For friendship? Well, that one would be a definite, as well as companionship.”

“I don’t know,” Harry whispered, turning his face away from Lucius’ piercing grey eyes. “I’m so young, and I haven’t even graduated yet. I must seem pretty useless right, in comparison to some of the people you know?”

“You are brilliant, and brave, and beautiful. One of the strongest, smartest people I know, no matter your age. The way Evan tells it, you’ve even managed to wow our Lord, and that is a feat in itself. He is not easily impressed, nor am I. Perhaps at first, it was a fascination to learn about you, about the Horcrux. It used to call out to me, it’s magic and my magic would beg to be one, caressing and tempting me, but you were so young. Then you grew. I watched you grow year after year, age and mature and develop, and your magic never, _never_ stopped calling to me. But it was no longer just about your magic, Harry. You were an amazing person, blossoming in front of my eyes, and there was a sickness inside of me every time I thought of that one person who would capture your heart. I wanted you. I needed you. I think, you were twelve-years-old, no, I knew, you were twelve and it was the day I found you with our Lord’s journal in your hand and I knew I never wanted to see harm come to you. It was that day I knew I loved you, for you, not for what you could offer me. I love _you_ , Harry James Potter Rosier.”

“There’s a ‘Black’ in there somewhere,” Harry told him, his face split in half by the size of his grin, and both cheeks flaming red.

“Yes, and soon to be ‘Malfoy’.” Their mouths met, hot and heavy, with hands tugging at each other’s clothes and hair, lips bruising and teeth nipping, and Harry moaned wantonly, as Lucius pressed a thigh between his own and began rubbing upwards slowly. 

“I love you, Lucius.” He whispered when they finally broke apart. They had gathered a bit of an audience, and as they pulled apart a handful of people began clapping, smiling softly at the scene before them. 

Ron and Ginny stood side-by-side scowling angrily. “Oi, Potter! Cheating on Granger, are we? Not very nice of you, is it?” 

“Oh honestly!” Hermione muttered, pushing her way through the crowd to stand beside Harry and Lucius. “They are Courting, Ronald, as in they plan to get married. Harry has not, nor ever will, be involved with myself. I’m with Viktor now.”

“How is Vicky?” Ron asked snidely. “Getting over you cheating on him with Potter yet?”

Harry reached out to nudge Hermione. The girl rolled her eyes, shaking her head lightly. “Ron found me and Viktor studying together. Apparently, the idiot decided he wants to date me and has been a little prat since.”

“He’s always been a prat.” Harry told her. Hermione and Lucius both fought back smiles, but Ron and Ginny both turned red, scowling furiously. 

“Shut up, Potter! You think you’re so great, well you’re not! Course Hermione doesn’t want you; look at you, all chummy with a Death Eater. You’re pathetic. It’s disgusting.”

“Mr Weasley, I dare say that is enough. You may want to bite your tongue before you go too far.” Lucius placed on hand on Harry’s shoulder, squeezing gently as the boy tensed beneath his hand in anger. 

“You- You- Don’t fucking talk to me, Death Eater!” Ron’s hands were balled by his side, shaking as his body vibrated with anger. His face was puce now, horrible and ugly. “And you!” He said, turning on Hermione, as jealousy came to life in his chest. First Harry didn’t want to be his friend, like Dumbledore said he would, then Harry chose Malfoy’s family over _his_ family, and now the girl he liked chose Harry and then Viktor fucking Krum over him. It wasn’t fair, and now a Death Eater (a filthy, boot licking servant of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named) was telling him what to do, like he had to follow orders. He wasn’t a servant. Ronald Weasley was better than that, and Harry and Hermione both would see it, eventually! He’d make them see it. “Just because you’re a Mudblood doesn’t mean you can get away with acting like a whore. No one will want to marry you if you keep it up!” 

Ron didn’t get a chance to say anymore. He was sitting on his arse in the snow, surrounded by a gaping crowd, as Hermione drew back her fist and blood dripped from the end of Ron’s nose.

“You punched me.”

“You insulted me.” Hermione answered coolly. 

“You know, if you were a Pureblood,” Lucius whispered, “you’d be within your rights to have him arrested. It’s slanderous, the comments he’s made about you. Libellous, in fact. Tut, tut, Mr Weasley. I did warn you to bite your tongue.”

“He’s not worth it. Come on, Harry, you and Lucius can join me in the Three Broomsticks. I’m meeting Viktor now.” She cast one more look at Ron, who was slowly getting to his feet with his sister’s help. Harry looked back at them as well, smirking slightly at the dirty look the two redheads sent his way. “Viktor wants to meet you.” 

“Oh!” Harry gasped, before reaching out to hold Lucius’ hand. “I can give him the ‘hurt her and I’ll hurt you’ speech.”

“No, you can’t.” 

“Yes I can, Mione!” Harry exclaimed. “It’s what friends do.”

“We aren’t friends,” she told him primly, trying not to laugh. “According to the Prophet you’re my ex-boyfriend, and threatening Viktor would be completely out of line.” 

Harry glanced at Lucius, who merely rolled his eyes, unaffected by the lies the Prophet were spewing. “Maybe I want to scare him off so I can have you all to myself? Or maybe I want you to dump Viktor for Ron?”

“Merlin forbid,” Hermione mumbled, pushing open the door to the pub. Harry chuckled, following her inside with his hand firmly in the hold of Lucius’. 

“Good date?” The blond asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“The best,” Harry whispered, raising his head for a quick kiss, just as the door closed behind them. 

_XXX_

November 22nd 1994. 

The forbidden forest got quieter as Harry made his way closer to the exit of it. It was almost as if someone had put a silencing charm over part of the area, which was probable considering what was being hidden within it. Dragons did make an awful lot of noise after all. 

Hagrid continued to wave until Harry was out of sight. He had always been fond of the boy, even though he wasn’t a Gryffindor and he hadn’t gone after the Philosopher’s Stone, and he was friendly with Malfoys. Harry was a good kid, and it was like Alastor said, it wouldn’t be fair if everyone knew about the dragons but Harry, him being so young and all. He didn’t even want to compete, he didn’t want to be part of the Tournament but someone was making him, and imagine, Alastor had said, if Harry died in the first take because he didn’t know about the dragons even though Hagrid could have told him. 

Well, Hagrid thought, grinning widely, waving his pink umbrella in front of him lightly. Harry knew now. 

Harry himself was just coming up to the castle when Moody came into view. He stepped out of the shadows, one leg stumbling slightly, made of wood and unable to bend where the knee should have been. 

“Good night, Potter?” Alastor asked, his tongue flicking out to wet the edges of his mouth. 

“Not bad, considering.” Harry answered him, glancing over his shoulder at the forest. 

“Learn anything interesting?” Moody asked, with a grin that bared most of his teeth at once. 

“Points for effort, Professor. But I already knew. Thanks anyway.” 

Harry went to walk passed the man, but Moody reached out to grab his arm, asking, “how did you know?”

“I’ll keep my secrets,” Harry whispered, as he pulled his arm free. He glanced down to the flask Moody wore on his hip and grin, “and you keep yours. For now.”

Before Alastor could reply, Harry was gone. He ran to the castle, and in through the front doors, slipping down the corridors like a ghost with help from the Marauder’s Map, before entering his own Common Room. 

Luna Lovegood was waiting for him on the couch in front of the fire. “Dragons, huh?” She asked him. 

Harry didn’t bother asking her how she knew that, instead he smiled, shrugged and said, “Dragons.”

 _XXX_

November 24th 1994. 

Hermione had wanted to help him practise for the task. Draco and Theo had even offered, but it was Luna, who had stopped by the Slytherin table the night before the task and whispered “just be yourself”, that had helped him the most. He had spent that day and the day before practising everything he could find that would help him against a dragon, but after Luna’s comment Harry found it a lot easier to relax, to keep calm. Instead of running to the library again, like Hermione wanted, Harry went straight to Hagrid. 

Now, this morning, as he was frog marched between two redheaded twins to the newly erected stadium where he was expected to fight against a nesting dragon, he felt much more prepared than he ever had in his life. 

“We still need to talk, Harry,” Fred whispered into his ear. Both twins kept a tight hold on Harry’s arms, waiting crushed together at one corner of the Champion’s tent, until the order of their appearance was decided. 

“Can’t it wait?” 

George looked over at Bagman and Crouch, who were frantically summoning the Champions towards them. “Suppose so, but you can’t avoid us forever, Harry.”

“But I can try.” He shrugged off their hold, offering each of them a small smile, and made his way towards Bagman who was holding out a wiggling pouch that released smoke every now and then. 

“Only one left, my boy,” he told Harry, grinning widely as he held the bag out further. 

Harry pulled the Hungarian Horntail, and he would be going last. 

Cedric, Viktor and Fleur were all in similar states of dishevelment when it was finally Harry’s turn to compete. Even Fleur, who was determined to hate Harry for stealing what should have been her spotlight as the odd-Champion-out, looked at him with sympathy as he took a deep breath and stepped out of the tent. 

Lucius and Evan were in the crowd, with his friends’ grouped around them, Lucius’ wife and Severus Snape. Alastor Moody was waiting for him beside the judges, and he nodded sagely as Harry took a deep breath and jumped into the pit with the Horntail. The creature was chained up, in front of a small nest of eggs each the size of Harry’s head and one egg that shimmered and glowed like metal in the light. 

The dragon roared as it spotted Harry, taking an earth-shaking step towards the threat and drawing its head back. Before it could spit fire, Harry did what Luna had told him to do. He spoke. 

2“ **Don’t attack me. I’m here to help you.** ” He hissed at the dragon. The creature reared back, as if struck, and she watched Harry through unblinking eyes for a moment. 

“ **You Speak.** ” The Dragon snorted, the words sounding muffled, as if they were talking through a medium, or with very heavy accents. 

Dragon-speak wasn’t the same as snake-speak, but they were close enough that certain words and phrases would be understandable. If Harry spoke slowly, carefully, the Horntail would understand what he was saying. Now, all he had to do was appeal to her instinct to protect her young, without enticing her to destroy the intruder in the process. 

“ **The ones who took you, who brought you here,** ” Harry hissed at her, cringing a little as she roared, “ **WIZARD** ”, and blew fire at the sky. “ **Yes, the Wizards who brought you here. They wanted to test you, to test us. This is a game to them, and if we pass you may return home. But your clutch will not, unless I pass.** ”

The dragon tilted its head to the left, lowering herself down, so that she was hunched before Harry, her face to his face. If she attacked him now he was dead, there was no question of it, and he could hear the crowd screaming for him to run because from where they were standing no one could hear him speaking. To the crowd it looked as if he were just waiting to die. Moody could hear, as could the judges, because they were all close enough to the pit, and the boy and the dragon. Alastor narrowed his eyes, jealousy crossing his features quickly as he wondered whether his father knew, whether that was why Harry Potter was favoured above all others, instead of him? It had once been him. Then the dragon let out a puff of smoke and flame, right into Harry’s unflinching face, and Moody lunged forward in fear. If the boy died… There would be hell to pay. Albus Dumbledore pulled him back, keeping him at the tableside, frozen with fear and anger. But Harry was ok.

“ **Explain**!” The Horntail hissed back at him, her tongue flicking out to lick the soot off of Harry’s un-burnt face. 

“ **There is an intruder in your nest. That one there, the shiny one. When it hatches, it will eat your eggs before they can hatch and protect themselves. My task is to remove it without you killing me, and yours is to kill the real intruder, the egg, before it kills your young. The Wizards are using them for sport, uncaring that it puts your young at risk, that you might not spot the real intruder until it is too late, or that I could die.** ” Harry paused, folding his arms across his chest and raising his head up, trying to appear brave. “ **I am here to help you.** ”

The horntail didn’t speak again. Instead, she stood, walking back to her nest in silence, and laying down, curled around the eggs. She watched Harry a moment long, smoke leaving her nostrils with every breath. “ **Well, come take the intruder.** ” She flicked her tail at him and away again, almost like the dragon version of crooking a finger at someone. Harry obeyed, slowly walking towards the clutch with both hands held unthreateningly in front of him. He made a grab for the egg, and backed up hurriedly before the Hungarian Horntail changed her mind. The egg was pressed tightly against his chest, his arms wrapped around it in a desperate attempt to keep his arms from shaking. He might have been prepared for idea of it, but it was still a daunting, terrifying experience. He had faced a dragon, head on, and had come out unharmed. That was more than the other Champions could say for themselves. “ **Get out of my sight, and destroy the intruder. Tell the Kin we wish to go home now.** ” Harry followed the dragon’s gaze, landing on the handful of Wizards who had brought the dragons to England in the first place, Ron’s brother Charlie, was in the middle of them. 

“ **Yes, my lady. Thank you.** ” With the egg in hand, Harry climbed out of the pit and stumbled over to the judges. 

Each judge was watching him warily, except Karkaroff. That Wizard gazed at him as if he were the devil incarnate and his hands shook as he held up the enlarged parchment with the number “4” on it. That was Harry’s lowest score. Dumbledore and Bagman had both given him a “10”, even though Dumbledore’s usual twinkle was absent from his blue eyes. 

“But you did do very, very well, my boy,” the old man had told him after giving him his score. “Even if I disagree with the methods.”

Crouch Sr. had given him a “9”, and so had Madame Maxime, both looking pale and surprised. But since, as Evan had told him, the Champions winning tactic was exactly that, something that helped them win, no one could speak about it to a competitor until the competition was over. So none of the head teachers could talk amongst themselves about it, or to their competing students, and no one could talk to the press, or to the Ministry officials involved or otherwise. It was the main reason Harry had decided to go ahead with this plan, after Luna had brought it to his attention. No one could talk about him being a Parseltongue; no one could bring up the reminders of his second year: no one needed to know. And he still came out the winner of the first task with “42” points, to Viktor’s “40” in second place. 

“By the way,” Harry leant over the table to whisper, “the Horntail said to tell Charlie Weasley that she wants to go home now.” 

Harry ignored the ravenous look on Moody’s scarred face, and turned away from the table to head back into the tent where Madame Pomfrey was no doubt waiting for him. The best part about the Oath surrounding the Tournament? Moody couldn’t run off and tell Voldemort his secrets before Harry could. They were Harry’s secrets, and if the man thought he had been mistaken in second year, then who was Harry to correct him. Not until he was ready for Voldemort to know. It certainly wouldn’t be Alastor, or whoever he was, Moody’s place. 

_XXX_

November 30th 1994. 

Dobby arrived at Hogwarts that day. He just popped into the Great Hall, and fell into the deepest bow anyone had ever seen a house elf preform. 

“Dobby is being a gifty to the great Harry Potter sir, from Dobby’s master, master Lucius sir. Dobby is hoping yous accepting him!” And then the elf lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Harry’s legs, sliding under the bench the boy was sitting on. And it was a good thing Harry was sitting, because Dobby effectively locked his legs together and Harry would have fallen over otherwise. 

He remembered Dobby. Dobby used to collect his things from the Hogwarts Express and bring them to Malfoy Manor or Privet Drive and _then_ come back for Draco’s belongings. Dobby would greet Harry first, before Lucius or Narcissa or Draco, his owners. Dobby would happily do anything Harry asked him to, who would warn him if he thought something was dangerous even if it went against Lucius’ orders or Harry’s own. Dobby who was, sort of, Harry’s friend, and now his house elf. 

“Master Lucius sir is wanting to get rid of Dobby. But Dobby is happy, because now Harry Potter is being Dobby’s master sir!” The elf cried from his place on the floor beneath the Slytherin table, still hugging Harry’s legs. 

There was a letter on the floor where Dobby had been standing, and Harry summoned it to his hands and read it quickly. 

Apparently, Dobby was a Courting gift. Dobby was a Malfoy elf, who would risk his life to defend his family even if he didn’t like them, which he didn’t. But he liked Harry and he was bound to Harry and to the Malfoy’s because he was gifted and not freed and it would offer Harry twice the protection this way, just in case Harry needed it. And because Lucius remembered how fond of Dobby Harry had been when he was younger, never getting angry at the nerve-wearing elf, never getting annoyed, who always treated Dobby as if he were _wanted_. 

“Thanks Dobby, you can stand up now. Go home, and tell Lucius that I’m very pleased with you, and I’ll call you back when I need you, ok?” Dobby slid from under the table, offered a wide grin and a low bow, and disappeared from the Great Hall. 

“You know you have to free him, don’t you, Harry?” Hermione hissed from behind him. She had snuck over to the Slytherin table as Harry was reading the letter from Lucius, and before he could defend himself, she began another lecture on house elf rights. The rest of the table tuned her out, but because Harry was her friend, he was obligated to at least pretend to listen. So Hermione made herself comfortable beside him, and he nodded his head every now and then, in between taking bites of his breakfast. 

**XXX**


	45. Chapter 44

**Words:** 4,202  
 **Chapter 44**  
December 10th 1994. Hogwarts. 

Transfiguration, much like Potions, was usually the one class that no one ever spoke during. In Potions, the silence was generally a result of ‘fear of Snape syndrome’, as the Hufflepuffs had termed it or in the case of only the Slytherins respect for their Head of House. But with Professor McGonagall’s class no one spoke because she had the hearing of a cat, that being her animagus form, and she always heard you. It was a shared self-preservation instinct, known not only to Slytherins in this case alone, because nobody wanted the rest of the class knowing what McGonagall might overhear them talking about. And McGonagall certainly had no qualms about sharing if you happened to be the one disturbing her class. 

But today, the room was nowhere near silent. 

It was unusual and unexpected, and Harry glanced around at the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws he shared his Transfiguration lessons with. Everyone seemed to be as excited as their neighbour, chattering and giggling amongst themselves as McGonagall stood stiffly at the front of the classroom being ignored. He supposed he could understand their excitement in this instance, because it wasn’t every day that Hogwarts held a Yule Ball. Harry wasn’t fond of dancing, though he did like a good party as much as the next person, so he figured he could just go with his friends, or Luna maybe, because she wasn’t fond of dancing either, and they could talk and drink punch and laugh at his classmates as they tried and failed to waltz. 

He probably wouldn’t have gone at all, except that the Champions had to be there. And then he would have gone alone, because Lucius probably wouldn’t be allowed to date Harry on school grounds, but apparently the Champions had to lead the first dance and Harry was bad enough at dancing without trying to do it on his own. Especially with the whole school watching. Definitely not with the whole school watching! Harry could only vaguely imagine the utter humiliation that would follow such a moment, and even then his fantasies were vague and the reality would be much, much worse. So Luna it was, he told himself, glancing up at McGonagall as she finally called the class to order. 

It was silent in Transfigurations now, but teenagers were still shooting each other what they hoped was inconspicuous looks and smiles. Harry and several other Ravenclaws paid attention, Stephen Cornfoot being the only one who was caught not doing so, along with some Hufflepuffs. McGonagall’s patience had taken a battering by the time the class ended and so had Hufflepuff’s house points, but Harry didn’t mind that so much, because everything they had lost he had made up for with his perfectly transfigured tea cup, for his own house that is. 

Harry made his way to the Great Hall alone. He was usually alone these days, since he only shared a few classes with the Slytherins and Luna was in the year below him and Hermione was already engrossed in studying for the end of year exams. Everyone else in the school still seemed caught up by the fact that Harry wasn’t the real Hogwarts Champion, even though he was a champion for Hogwarts. He had come first in the First Task, but that still wasn’t enough to redeem his so called betrayal of Cedric in the eyes of his peers. Not that Harry cared: he didn’t actually spend much time with his peers, and certainly not with his own housemates. 

“Hey guys,” he greeted softly, taking his seat between Draco and Theo who were already eating. “What do you think of this ball then?” Harry helped himself to some potatoes and mixed veg, being extra careful to avoid the peas in the bowl. 

Theo shrugged, swallowed what was in his mouth and then sighed. “I don’t know. It sounds like fun, but I really don’t want to have to find a date.”

“Hermione will probably go with Krum, unless Rita’s articles turned him off her completely. I was thinking of asking Luna, what about you Draco?” Harry glanced over at his blonde friend who was chewing slowly and methodically, apparently not listening to the conversation at all. 

Draco pushed away from the table, and stepped over the bench. He stood directly behind Harry, his arms folded behind his back. With a soft blush on his pale face the blonde held out one hand, slowly, hesitantly, and grasped hold of one of Harry’s. “Will you do me the honour of accompanying me to the Yule Ball, Harry?” 

“Oh right!” Theodore chuckled, “completely forgot about that. How far are you in those Courting books Lucius sent you, Harry?”

Harry tried to tug his hand out of Draco’s grip, but his friend wasn’t letting go. “Not very far, why? I’ve read bits and pieces that seemed relevant but that doesn’t explain why Draco is asking me out. Unless you want to go as friends?” 

“Harry, you can’t go to functions or anywhere that could be considered as ‘date-like’ while you’re Courting somebody, unless you go with that family.” Theodore nodded his head at Draco, who was still clinging to his hand and waiting patiently for a response. 

“Lucius is my father. In his stead, I wish to accompany you to the ball, Harry, if you’ll accept my company that is.” 

“Oh,” Harry said softly, giving a small nod of agreement. “Well, I definitely didn’t read anything like that. Supposed I may give those books another look over, right? Yeah Draco, I’ll go with you.”

“You honour my family and myself,” Draco told him primly. He let go of Harry’s hand and gracefully slid himself back onto the bench. “Plus, Pansy asked me to go earlier and I told her I was already bringing someone, so you didn’t really have a choice. I would have forced you to go with me if you’d have said no.” Draco allowed the corner of his mouth to lift up, and Harry glanced at him with a scowl, eyes narrowed. 

“You’re such a lovely friend.” Harry told him sarcastically.

“I am, aren’t I?” Draco puffed his chest out, like a peacock, and looked down his nose at Theodore and Harry. “You’re both lucky to have me.” He steadfastly ignored their resultant snickering. 

_XXX_

December 19th 1994. 

Lucius hadn’t planned for his meeting with Dumbledore to run on so long. It was meant to be a simple, brief chat between the two of them concerning Harry’s safety during the Tri-Wizard Tournament and the legalities of forcing Harry to participate. In the end, Lucius had ended up waiting for a lawyer to arrive, for Crouch Sr. to give his two-knuts on the issue and then for Dumbledore to insist they share a spot of tea. It was almost midnight and undoubtedly Harry would be in bed. Or, if he was awake, he would be in the Ravenclaw common room and not with Draco, so Lucius was out of luck either way.

Fortunately for Lucius, Harry had taken up the habit of trying to figure out what was so strange about Mad-Eye Moody, and had taken to tailing his adventures on the Marauder’s Map. So far, he seemed to be able to be in two places sometimes, but whenever Harry had snuck out to check there was only one of him. Just one. So he figured the magical eye must have a signature of its own, or the wooden leg, since they were both a part of Alastor and if the man took them off perhaps it fooled the map into thinking there were two of them? Harry was actually about to check out that theory, on his way to Moody’s office first and then to Snape’s potions storage cupboard because those were the two places on the map with ‘Alastor Moody’ written on it.1 

It was fortunate that Lucius did not leave Dumbledore’s office until so late, because as he was making his way out of the school he ran straight into Harry and knocked the boy’s invisibility cloak right off of him. 

“Lucius!” Harry said, grinning widely up at his lover. 

Lucius reached down to help the boy up off of the floor, tugging him closer so they were standing chest to chest locked in the circle of Lucius’ arms. “Hello beloved, it is good to see you.”

“You too. What are you doing here?” Harry leant up, stretching his neck to place a soft kiss on Lucius’ jaw. 

“I had to speak with the Headmaster. But, I was hoping to run into you. I had lost hope of doing so until you literally ran into me,” he told Harry, a grin curling his lips. 

“Sorry about that,” Harry mumbled, looking up at the blonde through his fringe. There was a small smile on his mouth too and Lucius’ grin only got wider. 

“Enough of that now, beloved. As it is almost Yule, and I have been informed that I cannot visit you for Yule, at least not officially and certainly not to the ball, I may have to give you your present early.” There was a strange twist to Lucius’s lips now and it made Harry feel suspicious even as his cheeks turned red. 

“You don’t have to, Lucius, you can wait and owl it if you want.”

Lucius chuckled. He took Harry’s hand in his and began pulling him back the way the blonde had come. Harry followed him without complaint, glancing at the man’s back in curiosity. “It’s not the type of gift one can owl, beloved. The rest of your gift will be sent by owl-post Yule morning, but this one, this is something just for us.” Lucius glanced back at him over his shoulder, mouth stretched up and eyes bright and Harry felt something bubbling in his stomach. Anxiety, or arousal, or excitement, he wasn’t sure which, but it was there and it was strong and wild within him and his chest started heaving as he tried to decide what exactly Lucius was implying. 

He didn’t have long to think on it, because Lucius found the closest empty classroom he could and shoved Harry inside of it. After locking and silencing charms had been cast, Lucius turned them, so that it was Harry pushed up against the door with Lucius trapping him there. Their lips met, hot and wet and furious and Harry lost his moans into the cavern of Lucius’ mouth. Harry found his hands scrambling alternatively between Lucius’ shoulders and the door behind him, fighting desperately for some purchase whenever his legs felt like they would give out under him. 

Lucius tore himself away from Harry’s mouth, choosing instead to trail wet, open mouthed kisses down the column of Harry’s throat, and then up across his jaw and cheeks. Pales fingers glanced down Harry’s sides, curling in at the boy’s waist tightly, possessively, for a moment before drifting further, pulling at the zip of Harry’s trousers. 

Harry gasped as Lucius managed to slip his hand inside the waistband of the trousers. “What?” He questioned, breathless and dazed. 

“Trust me?” Lucius asked, his breath coming in soft pants against Harry’s cheek. 

Harry didn’t say anything else, choosing instead to reach down to loosen the belt he wore, helping Lucius fit his hand further inside. The trousers slipped down his hips, pooling there until Lucius tugged at them, dropping them to rest around Harry’s ankles. The blonde kept his hand in Harry’s boxers, lightly stroking over the boy’s erection as Harry panted against his chest. 

“I love you,” Lucius whispered, glancing right into Harry’s eyes as he said it. They kissed again, before Harry could respond, and Lucius used that distraction to divest Harry of his boxers. Naked from the waist down, the boy trembled lightly, from the cold and from nerves, but he looked up at Lucius with wide green eyes full of trust. 

“I love you too,” he said. “Is this my present?” 

“Are you enjoying it?” Lucius responded with a question of his own. Harry nodded his head, and Lucius sank down to his knees. “Good,” he whispered, one hand still on Harry’s cock and the other pinning him against the door by his hips. 

Harry watched enraptured as Lucius moved forward, almost in slow motion, until his cock disappeared into the blonde’s mouth. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Sure, he had touched himself, and Lucius had touched him, and hell Lucius had even put his mouth on him before but never like this, in public, in school and the thrill of being caught ran through Harry’s very being making him writhe and gasp as Lucius swallowed around him. He clenched one hand in Lucius’ blonde hair, pulling strands of it out of the neat bow that was meant to hold it at the nape of his neck. The other reached behind him, clutching the doorknob with strength he didn’t realize he possessed as he fought to stay upright. All the while, Lucius continued to suck, wet and warm against his throbbing erection, occasionally taking him into his throat and swallowing like a pro before pulling back to gently lick the tip like a kitten sipping cream. 

Harry moaned, long and loud as Lucius reached down to tug softly at his balls. That hand moved after a moment, one fingers skimming down along his perineum eliciting soft gasping noises from Harry as the blunt nails traced over sensitive skin. The finger was gone then, just as Harry was getting used to the feeling, and the next time Lucius swallowed around his length, the finger pushed forward, passed the tight ring of muscle and into Harry’s arse. The boy gave a shriek, hips jerking away from the door and towards Lucius’ face and the man’s finger prodded at his prostate. Once he had found the spot, Lucius refused to move from it. He had to use his free hand to press Harry to the door, or risk being choked: he had to hold him harder than he had been before, and he scowled up at the boy in warning, the message mostly lost in translation and at the sight of Lucius’ pale pink lips stretched wide around Harry’s cock as green eyes watched entranced. 

Without lubrication, Lucius kept his explorations to a one-finger limit, lest he hurt his lover, but he used that one finger to the best of his capabilities. It wasn’t long after penetration that Harry jerked sporadically in his grasp, eyes wide and mouth open as he released a low keening sound that had Lucius own dick twitching in his pants. 

The pureblood swallowed everything Harry had to offer, before pulling away and wiping delicately at his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He remained on his knees, watching smugly as Harry sank down to the floor, boneless and exhausted. The teenager smiled at him, face flushed and chest heaving, with Lucius hand still against the crack of his arse. They separated their bodies, Harry with a wince and Lucius with mounting disappointment, already feeling the loss of Harry’s tightness and warmth. 

“Wanna do that again?” Harry asked shyly, glancing down at the obvious bulge in the front of Lucius’ trousers. 

The blonde raised his eyebrows, quite surprised by the suggestion because in all of their encounters Lucius had been the one to pleasure and he rather enjoyed that role. But since Harry was offering… 

“If you are uncomfortable, at any time, tell me and we’ll stop. Understand, beloved?” Lucius’ hand unfastened his own trousers, pushing them past his hips, but left them on his thighs. He allowed Harry to push him back until he was lying flat on the ground and then he closed his eyes, ready to lose himself to sensation; his last sight was of Harry crawling towards him, still naked from the waist down and licking his lips hungrily. 

_XXX_

Lucius walked him back to Ravenclaw Tower; memorizing the route for the next time he felt the need to seduce Harry afterhours. Neither saw Severus watching them from the shadows as they left the abandoned classroom, nor the subtle spells the Professor shot Harry’s way, checking to make sure the boy hadn’t been injured while alone with the notorious blonde Death Eater. Well, Lucius noticed, but he made no show of having done so, instead allowing Severus to slip away satisfied that Harry was safe. 

“Here we are,” Lucius whispered his lips against Harry’s as he spoke. “I’ll see you soon. Enjoy the ball and make sure my son behaves himself.”

“He’ll probably spend the whole night hiding behind me in case Pansy is around.” Harry chuckled, and then frowned lightly. “He doesn’t really have to marry her, does he?”

“No,” Lucius said with a snort. “Of course not. But she is stubborn and persistent, and may I say it, in a continuous state of denial. I admit, I find too much pleasure at Draco’s expense, so please don’t tell him, hmm, beloved? Let him stew a little longer?”

“You’re a cruel man!” Harry told him, laughing lightly and pushing at Lucius’ chest. “But I love you.”

“And you, beloved. Now, to bed with you.”

Lucius waited until Harry had answered the riddle correctly and the entrance to the common room appeared before he turned and walked away. Luna was waiting up for him, curled up on one of the couches by the fire. 

“Hello Harry,” she whispered softly when she spotted him. “I would have so loved to see that. A pity Mr Malfoy won’t be escorting you to the ball.” Harry gaped at her for a moment, wondering how she knew who he was with and wondering if she really knew what they had been doing. “You make a beautiful couple and I bet he’s rather lovely with his clothes off.” She told him, just before she stood and left him alone, stunned, in the common room. 

She was a strange one, was Luna, but she was slowly becoming someone he’d call a friend. And Harry was ok with that. 

_XXX_

December 25th 1994. 

Draco met him at Ravenclaw Tower, resplendent in his dress robes and with his hair gelled back. Harry took his arm in his, walking linked like that the whole way to the great hall with Draco one step ahead of him, as was fitting of the escort. Lucius could walk beside him, while touching, and his friends could walk beside as long as they weren’t touching, but Draco as a member of the Malfoy family holding his arm like this and heading to a dance had to distinguish himself from the Courted couple. So he walked a little ahead of Harry, drawing attention away from the boy who was firmly off the market and onto himself instead. Draco loved the attention of course, and Harry did love not being the one being stared at like a circus freak, but that only lasted until the doors of the hall opened and Professor McGonagall shoved him inside for the first dance. 

Harry should have entered last, as the youngest, but as Draco had rather rudely pointed out at the dance rehearsal two nights ago Harry was the only one engaged to be married, and as such took his status from the dominant partner. Lucius happened to be the oldest out of the contestants or their partners or dates, and so somehow Harry found himself being shoved first into the hall with Draco a step ahead of him again. The blonde recovered easily, twisting Harry around so that they were face to face, arms coming to the brunette’s waist and hand, before leading him straight into the waltz that Professor Flitwick was already orchestrating. 

Viktor was next, with Hermione on his arm, looking beautiful in her pink dress, followed by Cedric and Cho, and then by Fleur and a boy that Harry vaguely recognized as being from Ravenclaw. 

The first dance lasted longer than it had in the rehearsal, but everything went well until the music was just winding down and Ginny Weasley appeared on the dance floor. It would have looked like she was simply preparing to dance the next song, but she had arrived on her own. Her date, whoever he was, was nowhere in sight.

“Harry,” she said with a smile, placing her hand over Harry’s and pulling it out of Draco’s grip. “Dance with me.”

She didn’t give him much of a choice in the matter. As the music started up again, Ginny tugged Harry against herself and tried to make him lead her around the floor. Draco watched flabbergasted, slowly turning a horrible shade of red in anger, and Harry tripped over his own feet twice before he managed to get her rhythm right. She was leading the dance, while trying to make it look like Harry was leading, and it wasn’t working in the slightest, and what was worse was that she kept letting her hand slip down to fondle his arse. Every time she did it, Harry jumped a little and ended up tripping again. 

The dance was only a few seconds in when Harry was pulled back against Draco’s chest and three Slytherin boys had their wands trained on Ginny Weasley’s head. Draco, Theo and Blaise scowled angrily at the redhead, who glared right back at them. 

“Do you mind, Malfoy? We were dancing.”

“No,” the blonde drawled, “Harry was dying a little inside, and you were… I don’t know, what do poor weasels do at extravagant events? Make a show of themselves, I suppose?” 

Blaise and Theodore had come to the party single, neither of them bothering to ask out any of the girls in Slytherin because they all already had dates or would read too much into it (like Pansy did whenever Draco so much as glanced in her direction). Just because Harry was happy to be getting bonded as soon as he was old enough, didn’t mean they all were. But since they were single, they didn’t have to worry about abandoning their dates to come to Harry’s defence the moment Ginny overstepped her bounds. 

“Keep your hands to yourself. You’ve read the _Prophet_ ,” Blaise hissed, “You know he’s off limits to you.”

“That paper is known to lie! Imagine, Granger with Harry or with Krum! Ha, it was obviously all lies and I know better than to believe that Harry would feel anything for a bastard like your father, Malfoy.” Ginny narrowed her eyes at him. She reached out a hand towards Harry’s, who jerked it back in anger at the insult to his lover. “Come on, Harry!” She told him firmly, rolling her eyes at his stubbornness. “Oh,” she whispered softly, glancing over their shoulder at Hermione who was dancing gracefully with Viktor Krum. “I don’t believe it,” she whispered. 

Ron Weasley was sitting beside the punch table, his date frowning at him heavily but he didn’t notice because he too was watching Hermione and Viktor. But Ginny didn’t see her brother, because as her eyes sought him out in the great hall they fell first on Luna, who looked lovely in her orange dress robes, despite the colour. She was dancing slowly with Neville Longbottom, the boy pale and blushing and obviously having been approached by Luna and not the other way around, but Ginny’s eyes narrowed into slits and she shoved past Harry and the Slytherins towards the girl who was trying to steal her date. 

“Luna can look after herself,” Harry told them, and not a second later Luna had cursed Ginny, sick of listening to the redhead shouting at her. Draco chuckled, before holding his hand out to Harry again. 

“Care to dance?” The blonde asked, with a soft smile at his friend. 

“I don’t really like dancing,” Harry told him, shrugging softly. He led Draco towards the punch, ignoring Ron’s not-so-subtle staring, and poured them both a cup each. 

“Neither do I really. Let’s go talk to the others.”

“You and mingling,” Harry chuckled with a roll of his eyes. “It must be a snob thing.”

“Oi!” Draco shoved him lightly, though he did take the offered cup of punch with thanks. “There’s no need for such stringent abuse, Harry. I did save you from the weasel remember?”

“Your good deed for the decade, yeah?” Harry grinned at him, the corners of his mouth pulling up and making him look beautiful. 

Draco rolled his eyes, but it was easy to see what had his father so fascinated. Harry had been his friend first, and if he swung that way he probably would have been just as in love with Harry as Lucius was. 

“See if I ever do anything nice for you again,” he said with a scowl, the corners of his mouth twitching so that his apparent anger fooled no one, and he pulled out a chair at the table his dorm mates were using. When Harry sat, Draco tucked the chair back in, before taking his own seat. 

“That was nice of you,” Harry couldn’t resist saying, teasing his friend lightly. 

“Shut up.” Draco snorted, “And drink your punch.” 

**XXX**

1 – It is my belief that when he is Polyjuiced it says Moody, and when he isn’t it says Crouch. 

* * *

Thanks for reading.


	46. Chapter 45

**Words:** 2,604  
 **Chapter 45**  
January 16th 1995. Hogsmeade. 

Hogsmeade was always busier than usual when the Hogwarts students were set free from the castle. But that was to be expected, and the owners of the shops and pubs of Hogsmeade were appreciative for the extra business, of course they were, but the teachers who ran to the Hogs Head or the Three Broomsticks to escape the students weren’t exactly appreciative of students turning up around them. Hagrid, for example, was perfectly content (no, that wasn’t right; he was desolate, horrified, embarrassed and angry) but he was fine right where he was, sitting in a booth in the corner of the Three Broomsticks crying over his pitcher of Butterbeer. He didn’t appreciate the handful of students who stood around his table gaping at him, glancing worriedly at the other students and then back at him. 

Hagrid liked him, Harry knew. Hagrid had been friends with his parents, and if there was anyone’s pity Hagrid would appreciate it was his, but Harry didn’t really fancy sitting around crying into Butterbeer, or any beverage really. Plus, his father was waiting for him. With a nod at the Gameskeeper, who didn’t look up in time to catch it, Harry walked to the other side of the pub and slid into a booth opposite Tennyson Alfred. 

“Why’s he so upset?” Harry asked, nodding back at the elder Wizard’s direction. 

“Oh, there was a rather nasty article in the _Prophet_ outing his mother as a giantess. As if anyone could believe he was fully human.” Evan muttered, taking a sip of his coffee after the first sentence. 

Harry could understand that. The man was certainly large enough to be a giant’s offspring, still runt-ish when compared to a real giant of course, but his father was a human. Lots of people had magical creature blood though, so Harry didn’t really see what all the fuss was about, unless the article was particularly scornful, in which case. “Did Rita Skeeter write it?” He asked, sighing loudly when Evan nodded. “She’s a cow.”

“Language.” The Death Eater chided, narrowing his eyes lightly until Harry apologized softly. 

A waitress approached the table shortly after, taking both of their orders and jumping slightly when Hagrid let out a particularly loud cry, blowing his nose into his handkerchief. Harry glanced over his shoulder at the giant and frowned, “I feel sort of sorry for him,” he said after the waitress had left. “But at least it’s not me this time. Skeeter hates me for some reason.”

“She doesn’t hate you. She just knows you make for good sales, Caen.” 

“I suppose.”

The food came shortly after, and they made general small talk as they ate. Evan asked after Harry’s classes, his friends, the Yule Ball. Harry asked after Lucius, their Lord, and Evan’s work. They talked about their general health, and Harry asked for tips on the third and second task. 

“He hasn’t told me anything about the tasks, child. And if He had, why would I tell you when I’ve always been a firm believer in you working things out for yourself? You learn better that way.”

“I know, I know,” Harry sighed, rolling his eyes as he spoke. “But I have this silly egg and all it does is screech at me, and it’s _supposed_ to give me a clue so I can prepare for the next task! At this rate I’m just going to go deaf.” 

Evan glanced down at Harry’s lap, where the pockets of his robe had overlapped. “Do you have it with you?”

“Nah, it’s in the dorm. Not like anyone will actually want to open it anyway, so it’s safe enough.” 

At the table beside them, a middle aged Witch appeared to be eagerly eavesdropping on their conversation. Harry hadn’t noticed, but Evan had, and he grinned widely, his eyes still fixed on Harry’s pockets and thus his crotch. “How often do you take it out?” He asked his voice low and husky. 

Harry frowned at him, confused by the tone of his voice. Evan was playing a game of some sort, but Harry hadn’t quite caught on yet. He felt his eyebrows creasing together as he answered, “not often, why? It’s just so… frustrating. I prefer to just ignore it really.”

“Ah, I see.” Evan was still grinning, and the woman at the table beside them was leaning over her tea cup to better hear them. It was, after all, the famous Harry Potter sitting right beside her. “Well, then, there’s only one thing I can suggest.”

“What’s that?” Harry was still confused, but he had by now noticed the elder woman listening in on them. Whatever Evan said next would be for her benefit and not for the Tri-Wizard Tournament, he knew, but he wasn’t able to guess what Evan might imply regardless. 

“I suggest taking it out and getting it… wet.”1 Evan told him, looking quite serious. He folded his hands under his chin and took great pleasure in the look of horror that crossed the woman’s face, though his own expression didn’t change. She turned fully away from them, disgusted at their topic of conversation, and Harry wondered how talking about the golden egg could be taken in so bad a context. And then it dawned on him. 

“EVAN!” He hissed, narrowing his eyes at his father even as the occupants at two other tables turned to see what he was shouting about. “That’s disgusting!” 

“What?” The Death Eater asked innocently, “I was only trying to help, Harry. And it is a known fact that Mermish is unrecognizable out of water, so I don’t know _why_ you look so horrified. Really!” 

_XXX_

January 21st 1995. Hogwarts. 

Cedric Diggory was a Hufflepuff. He was a nice enough guy, handsome, with lots of friends, and apparently he was the real Hogwarts Champion. But he was still taking the time to explain to Harry how to make the golden egg work. Or, he would have been, if he could get the boy alone. 

His friends had followed him out to the grounds, where Cedric had originally escaped to with Harry so they could be alone and no one could accuse him of cheating. But now they were surrounded by five other boys, a mix of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, and Harry glanced between each of the elder boys amusedly. 

He knew what Cedric was doing, and he appreciated the effort enough that he didn’t want to break it to the Hufflepuff that he already knew it had something to do with mermaids and that he would only understand the clue if the egg was opened under water. The problem of course was that Harry didn’t have access to a large body of water. There was the prefect’s bathroom, but he didn’t know where that was, and the showers in the Ravenclaw dorm didn’t allow for flooding and Hermione had assured him that Gryffindor was the same, and he knew Slytherin was too, so he couldn’t even keep the shower running long enough to build up enough water to crouch under. He could hardly jump into the black lake randomly, especially with the way Viktor Krum went jogging passed it twice daily. He didn’t want to help the other champions, even if they wanted to help him. 

That still left him without a place to open the egg. He had been heading to Hagrid’s when Cedric grabbed him. The egg was in his bag, and Harry had been hoping that Hagrid would have had a pool or something to water the animals from, and that it might have been deep enough to stick his head in for a while. But maybe Cedric had a better idea?

“I’m sorry!” The Hufflepuff suddenly said, as one of his friends grabbed his right arm and another the left one. “I’m really sorry, Harry.” Then they dragged him back towards the castle. 

With a roll of his eyes, Harry turned and began down the sharp incline that would lead him passed the lake and to Hagrid’s hut. He didn’t notice Alastor Moody watching him from behind one of the pillars in the walkway, nor did he notice the dark looks the ex-Auror was throwing Diggory’s friends. Harry was just about resigned to the idea of sticking his head in a pig’s trough or the Wizarding version of such if one existed, when a tripping hex caught him by the left ankle and he tumbled face first into the shallows of the black lake. A second spell followed, leaving Barty’s wand mere seconds after the first, but this one wasn’t aimed at Harry. It was for something in the lake, and as Harry scrambled to his feet with a dirty look for anyone who happened to be watching, one tentacle lifted out of the water and wrapped around Harry’s waist. 

He managed to cry out once, before the giant squid pulled him out into the lake and under water. He fumbled for his wand, pointing it unnecessarily at the creature that let go the moment Harry’s head was submerged. He glanced around, holding his breath and trying not to panic. But nothing else attacked him, and as if by divine intervention, the golden egg floated free of his bag and opened up right in front of him. 

He listened, occasionally pulling himself above the surface of the water to take a breath before the giant squid would pull him back under again. Once he had heard the clue through three time, the squid grabbed him again and began pulling him back to the shallows were it left him alone and soaking, just as Moody reached down to drag him out by the collar of his ruined robes. 

“Professor?” Harry sputtered, rubbing water out of his eyes. 

“You alright, Potter? Nasty slide you had there.” 

The egg was still clutched in Harry’s hands, and Moody’s eyes were fixed firmly on it. There was something green and slimy sticking out of the edge of Moody’s pocket, and Harry glanced down at it, recognizing it after a moment as something he had learnt about in one of this ‘extra’ Defence classes. Why would Moody need gillyweed? And where could Harry get some?

 _XXX_

January 30th 1995. 

**\--Dear Professor Snape,**

**I know you don’t like me, in fact I’d safely say you hated me with every fibre of your being. But Lucius Malfoy is your friend. I’d hazard a guess and say he is one of your only _real_ friends, and you would do an awful lot more than you’d admit to keep him in good spirits, like anyone would do for real friends, for family, right? Well, if I die in this Tournament, Lucius would be very upset. Distraught. Inconsolable, etc. You get the idea. The point being that, in this instance, helping me helps secure your friends happiness since we are going to get married eventually and I plan to make him as happy as I could possible manage. **

**You’re probably wondering what I want at this point, that is, if you haven’t already burned this letter. But, well, I was wondering if you had any gillyweed and if I could get some off of you? I’d ask Professor Moody, but well, after his stunt last week he’s kind of freaking me out a little.**

**If you don’t have any, that’s fine. But if you do and you don’t give me some and I drown and die, I hope you know Lucius will be very upset with you. And I’ll haunt you, just so you know.**

**Regards, Harry Potter-Black.--**

Harry blew over the parchment for a few minutes, before deeming it dry enough to roll up. He handed it to Hedwig, who was perched patiently on the windowsill of his dorm room. Luna was sprawled across his bed, reading one of his fourth year textbooks upside down, but she looked up at him once Hedwig had taken flight. 

“I hope he doesn’t burn it.”

“I hope he doesn’t poison it.” Harry said in response to Luna’s soft exclamation. 

Luna smiled at him, a half twist of her lips that made it look less sincere than she intended. “Well, you can only wait and see, I guess, Harry. But, if you die at least the Humdingers can keep me company. Though,” she said after a small pause during which Harry stared incredulously at her, “I would miss you, I think. It’s been nice having a friend.”

“It is nice having you as a friend.”

“Will we still be friends when the Dark Lord comes back and starts making you kill people like me?” She asked, looking completely serious. 

“People like you?” Harry asked, because he wasn’t sure what else he could say. 

“On the light side. Father was very anti-Dark Lord during the first war.”

“This war will be different,” Harry told her, completely serious. “There’ll be no needless murders, no genocide; he’ll be the way he was before the madness, before the Horcruxes, before it all went wrong. I promise.” Harry took her hands in his and squeezed them lightly. “No one is going to hurt you.”

“Hmm,” she said softly, smiling up at him widely. “Ok.” Then she frowned, “Horcruxes, that’s a strange word. Does it mean something nice?”

Harry snorted in amusement. “Not really, but I’m banking on me being one to convince the Dark Lord to do things right this time. My dad says He likes me, so maybe he’ll listen to me? On some things at least?”

“Oh. If He likes you, I suppose he might. After all, you wouldn’t marry someone who was less than equal to you, and if you’re equal your opinion counts as much as his, right?”

“Marriage?” Harry chuckled, looking as confused as he felt. “This is Voldemort we’re talking about, not Lucius, you know.”

“My mistake,” Luna whispered, though she didn’t look very mistaken. Instead, she grinned widely at him, before turning back to her upside down textbook and refusing to speak for the rest of the night. At least, until Professor Snape wrote back. 

**\--Potter,**

**As much as it loathes me to do you any favours, Lucius wrote to me only moments ago, requesting my services as a courting gift to you. I will be teaching you how to duel. Properly. Not that disgusting farce of an example you were privileged with in your second year. Do well, and I won’t have to explain to Lucius how he wishes to bind himself with a useless waste of oxygen. Do exceptionally, and I’ll give you some gillyweed.**

**I will contact you if my once my schedule is confirmed. Do not expect me any time soon. You’re lucky I agreed at all.--**

He didn’t sign it, but Harry knew just from the acerbic tone of the letter who it was from. Not to mention, it was written in response to his own letter to the man. Harry handed it to Luna, who read it quickly and then folded it up into the shape of a swan before placing it on Harry’s bedside locker. 

“That sounds fun,” she said, still reading the book. 

Harry sighed, “Yeah, I’m so lucky. Thanks Lucius.” 

“Yes, maybe you should write him and thank him?” Luna suggested, “He obviously had to do a lot of bullying or begging to get Professor Snape to agree to tutor you.”

“Well,” Harry said, grabbing a clean sheet of parchment out of his bag, “at least I won’t be the only one suffering during these lessons. Just looking at me might be enough to give the man heart failure.”

 **XXX**

 

1 – Anyone else LOL at that scene in Being Human?? Between George and the werewolf who turned him, at the dinner? If you didn’t get it, it’s season 1 episode 2 I think.


	47. Chapter 46

It wasn’t as long a wait as usual. Wow. Really should be studying for these exams, but I’m not. I suck, I know. I really should go do Through the Looking Glass now, but I won’t do that either because Amazon delivered a load of manga to me this morning, yum, yum, yum. 

**WARNINGS: the middle of this chapter is (finally) the slash that you have all been waiting for. Harry is still only fourteen, so, anyone who dislikes the idea, feel free to skip the whole middle of this chapter.**

 

 **Words:** 5,431  
 **Chapter 46**  
February 9th 1995. 

“ **Confringo**!” A jet of fire exploded from Snape’s wand, and Harry threw himself hurriedly out of the way. He crashed to the ground, rolling with the impact and scurried to his feet, all the while panting heavily. His wand was still in his pocket, having been given no chance to pull it out. Snape taught duelling as he taught potions, sink or swim. “Try again, Potter. Try using magic to defend yourself. **Deprimo**!” 

Harry jumped behind a tree, eyes widening and breath catching in his chest as four of the branches that were hit simultaneously dropped away from the tree trunk, the edges dissolving as if acid had been poured upon them. “You didn’t give me a chance to!” Harry shouted back, poking his head out from behind the tree just as Snape shot a purple jet of light at him, something Harry had seen Evan use during his and Lucius’ ‘mock-training duels’. It was a spell a Death Eater would cast, and the two men had attributed the creation of it to a man named Antonin Dolohov, whoever he was. Harry was sure the affects wouldn’t be pleasant. 

“You must always be prepared, foolish boy. Do you think the Dark Lord would be willing to wait while you search for your wand, or browse your feeble mind for any spell or action by which you could protect yourself? Of course not. **Expulso**!” 

Snape was scowling at him; Harry didn’t need to be able to see him to know that. The potions master was probably feeling rather put out by these lessons. It was the second one this week, of being forced to spend time with Harry Potter without the opportunity to deduct house points, all because of Lucius who had requested and been granted duelling lessons from Snape as a courting gift for his lover. The first lesson was a half hour lecture about posture and wand movement and Snape being nothing like Lockhart, (who while being possessed by Voldemort taught their second year Defence class and still managed to make a mockery of duelling, according to Snape at least. Harry thought it was more to do with Voldemort releasing a snake accidentally on the students and then refusing to believe that Harry could be a Parseltongue just because a few students had heard him but the man hadn’t). 

This lesson was pure madness. At this rate, Snape would kill Harry before Voldemort, Dumbledore, or anyone really got the chance to. Maybe, Harry thought as he finally found a moment to fish out his wand, that was Snape’s plan all along. Maybe Snape would pin it on a centaur, or Voldemort, or a house elf or something and just leave Harry’s corpse to rot in the forbidden forest all alone? 

“ **Evanesco**!” Harry shouted, casting his first spell of the night. It didn’t quite have the expected result, but it was one Harry knew he could cast well having been practising since he was eight. The spell worked well, brilliantly in fact, but instead of vanishing the professor as Harry had hoped, it had only vanished the man’s robes. 

Clad in socks, shoes and his boxer shorts, Severus Snape glared viciously at the tree that hid his most hated student, the son of the woman he loved. Surely, somehow, this had been planned. There was no possible way Potter had _accidentally_ made all of his clothes disappear, knowing there could be no consequences to the house point system. Snape snarled, thinking of another way to punish the boy.

Harry peeked around the tree again, eyes growing wide at the sight of so much bare skin. He was man enough to admit he screamed, just a little, as a jet of orange light came at him, preceded by Snape screaming, “ **Flagrate**!”

The tree caught on fire, and Harry unwillingly scrambled out from behind it, no longer hidden from Snape’s wrath. “It was an accident?” The boy offered with a slow shrug, holding his wand out before himself, hands shaking. 

“Is that so, Mr Potter?” The man drawled as he took several steps closer to the teenager. “And how would Lucius feel if I was to tell him you had stripped a man who was not your fiancé of all of his clothes while alone in the privacy of the forbidden forest, with no witnesses, no attendants, no Draco Malfoy to play the familial replacement? How would he react, I wonder.”

“It’s not like that at all, and you know it! You’re just being a bastard- oh!” Harry slapped his hand over his mouth, dropping his wand in the process. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled through his fingers, because he wasn’t supposed to curse, especially not _at_ an adult. 

Snape choose that moment to prove he was a sneaky, underhanded Slytherin. “ **Stupefy** ,” Snape called, eyeing the boy’s wand which was on the ground at his feet. 

Harry didn’t have time to jump out of the way, this time, but on instinct he threw out his hand and cried, “ **Protego** ”. The spell bounced off the shield Harry had cast, and in his hand the holly and phoenix feather wand hummed idly, waiting for its next command. 

Snape wasn’t sure if the boy had _Accio_ ’d it under his breathe, wandlessly, or if it had been accidental magic reacting for a child in need, or some other untold power of the Boy-Who-Lived, but whatever it had been, it stunned Potter momentarily and rather awed Snape as well. The two Wizards glanced at the wand in question, eyes wide, then down at the ground to where it had been only seconds before, before Snape looked Harry straight in the eyes. The shield was still in place, and with a flick of his wand and a whispered, “ **Finite** ”, Harry let it drop. 

“You missed?” Harry asked, more than taunted, though there was a half-grin on his face. 

Snape bowed before him, and after a momentary hesitation, one where Harry wondered if Snape would hex him in the back as he bowed, Harry returned the customary action that signalled the start and/or end of a duel. 

“Not bad, Potter, but not exceptional either.” 

Potter sighed, probably expecting that he wouldn’t be given the gillyweed, because after all Snape’s letter had stated that the duel must have been exceptional. But what was exceptional, if wandlessly summoning your wand and simultaneously casting another spell wasn’t? 

“Are you happy?” The man asked suddenly, appearing right before Harry in the blink of an eye. His hands were on the teenager’s shoulders, and conjured robes now covered his frame. “With Lucius, are you happy?” Dark eyes stared intently at Harry, deep into his own green ones, as if daring the boy to lie to him.

“Yes. He makes me very happy.” There must have been something honest about the smile on Harry’s face or the look in his eyes, because Snape didn’t ask him to repeat himself. The man didn’t even glare at him. With a flick of his own wand a jar appeared, hovering in the air between them. There was something green and slimy shoved inside of it, and Harry recognized it immediately as gillyweed. The boy would have asked Professor Moody for some, but the last time he had tried the man had pinned him against the desk and glared at him, licking the edge of his mouth, and breathing heavily onto his face smelling of lacewing flies and something Harry couldn’t place. “Why do you want to know,” he had asked, so Harry hadn’t asked again. 

“Take it, Potter, and be gone from my sight. I will owl you when I next have a moment spare to waste on these pointless exercises.” Snape waved his wand again, and the jar dropped. Harry jumped forward to catch it, almost bumping into his professor at the same time, though he managed to steady himself and avoid a collision. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, and then he ran. He didn’t look back to see Snape pull up the sleeve of his robe to glance at his left arm, nor dispel the glamour that Harry knew hid his Dark Mark. The moment his clothes disappeared, Severus had cast it, and now he bared it to his sight again, glancing at the tattoo that grew darker and darker as the year passed by. Then he looked up in the direction Harry had gone and wondered if he was doing the right thing by Lily to let her son associate with the likes of Lucius Malfoy, especially now, since it seemed Lord Voldemort was returning to power. 

_XXX_

February 14th 1995. Malfoy Manor.

It was Sunday and it was Valentine’s Day, and Harry had just flooed from Snape’s private rooms to Malfoy Manor. Lucius had sent Harry an invitation for a private supper at his home, and as the intended in a courtship Harry was the one to set the boundaries, not his Headmaster. And Harry had very much wanted to go. 

Lucius was there to meet him at the fireplace, taking his arm and helping the boy step out into the atrium. It was late afternoon, around five, and the sun was just beginning to fight a losing battle with the horizon. Candles were lit along the hallways of Malfoy Manor, floating in mid-air and nailed decoratively to some walls, and Harry glanced around with wide eyes as if he were seeing the place for the first time. It wasn’t, he knew, any different to the last time he had visited, or stayed over, or spent the holidays, but it _was_ at the same time because Harry knew that after this visit things would be different. He would be different. 

Lucius’ summons had included the Monday; the day after this one, the night in between them, the night of Valentine’s Day, and the morning after, and what could be more perfect than the thoughts that were running through Harry’s teenaged mind. He glanced at Lucius’s profile as the man led them, arm in arm, to the dining room, trying to guess what Lucius was thinking, if he was thinking what Harry was, imagining and hoping and fantasising too perhaps? 

Dinner was delicious, but Harry spent the entire meal seated at Lucius’ right fidgeting with his cutlery or pushing his food uselessly around his plate until the elder man had to order him to eat it. He was too nervous, his stomach too unsettled, and his heart pounded away in his chest. He knew what Lucius wanted him there for; he knew what he himself wanted to do that night, so why was Lucius drawing it out? Wasn’t he nervous and inexperienced enough as it was, why was the blonde so determined to have him faint dead away before the night had even truly begun? Second guessing himself didn’t really help matters, Harry thought, only half listening to whatever Lucius was telling him. 

He had started the afternoon thinking that Lucius wanted to sleep with him, that he was about to lose his virginity to the man he loved and wanted to marry, and as the hour passed into six, and then seven, and they remained at the dining table with Lucius talking and Harry trying not to look a nervous wreck, he began to wonder if maybe Lucius was breaking up with him. Harry would need to spend the night of course, to cry and scream and rage and not make a spectacle of himself or the Malfoy name, bawling all through Hogwarts on the way back to Ravenclaw tower. If he got it all out tonight, then it’d be safe to let him out in public tomorrow, maybe, Harry mused. And now the thought was stuck in his mind. Gone were the fantasies of writhing beneath Lucius tonight, as the man’s mouth and hands did things beyond what he had already experienced. Instead, he could only see himself crying and begging for another chance, pathetically throwing himself at the man’s feet and pleading for everything, anything, the man had to give him. It didn’t help that Lucius had asked for his ring back, in order to offer it to him properly, personally, rather than just having it dropped by owl into Harry’s hands as he had done. But maybe, Harry thought, Lucius just generally wanted it back? 

Spitefully, Harry wondered if this was Snape’s fault, because Merlin knows the man hadn’t been subtle in his dislike of Harry’s relationship. But then, maybe it had been Sirius? Lucius had gotten Sirius out of Azkaban and yeah Harry’s godfather wasn’t happy about the relationship or finding out about said relationship through the newspapers, but damnit they had talked about it, and Sirius had promised to give Lucius a chance. Some chance, Harry thought angrily. 

“What?” Harry mumbled, shaking himself out of his thoughts as Lucius moved around the table and dropped to one knee before Harry. “That’s a funny way to dump someone,” the boy whispered, frowning down at the blonde. 

Lucius’ eyebrows furrowed in confusion, not recognizing the slang, but understanding from Harry’s body language that he was expecting something bad rather than good. “Well, if you’re this nervous now I’d hate to see you at the bonding ceremony. I dare to think you’d give cold feet a new meaning, beloved.”

“What?” Harry asked again, feeling foolish for sounding so inarticulate. 

“The papers have arrived,” Lucius said softly, reaching out to take both of Harry’s hands in his. “It’s all been finalised, at last. Narcissa will retain the Malfoy surname, and she will continue to live in this house, but she is no longer my wife, no longer my Lady. I am, for all intents and purposes, a free man, and I would love to take the opportunity to ask you, no, beg you, to marry me, Harry James Potter? Say yes, and make me very happy, my love.”

“Yes.” A slow smile was spreading across Harry’s face, and his heart was once more pumping with anticipation rather than dread. “Yes.” He said it again, and again, and again, until Lucius had to kiss him to shut him up. “I thought you were having second thoughts,” the boy admitted once Lucius released his mouth, “I thought you didn’t want to marry me anymore, you took so long to ask.” Harry wasn’t going to admit it was because Lucius spent three hours on small talk instead of proposing and taking him straight to bed, but the blonde could probably guess that was the real issue. He probably had by the smirk that was crossing his face. 

“I seem to have gone about this all wrong, beloved. Perhaps next time, I’ll seduce you into my bed first and then slip the ring onto your finger when you aren’t paying attention?” A light flush crossed Harry’s cheeks, and Lucius leaned forward with a grin, dragging Harry down until their lips were pressed together. Lucius remained on one knee by Harry’s feet, his hands on the boy’s face and neck, fingers spread to touch as much of him as possible, and he dropped a soft kiss to Harry’s jaw. 

“I’d have like that,” Harry told him with a smile, allowing one eyebrow to rise daringly. His breath caught in his throat as Lucius surged to his feet, hands on Harry’s waist, pulling and lifting until the boy was held tightly in his arms. 

Lucius tucked the ring box back into the pocket of his robes, not yet having put it on Harry’s finger and the boy having been too interesting in watching Lucius to watch the ring to notice this. “Then I take it all back, beloved. Let us pretend we are not engaged, hmm,” his mouth moved against Harry’s throat as he carried the boy towards the bedrooms, soft pants of air hit sensitive skin with every word, and Harry shuddered in his arms. 

Harry was dropped onto a large, soft bed, bouncing lightly in place. He watched as Lucius flicked his wand, and the doors and the windows closed and locked the blinds drawing shut as well. The lights were on, but Harry didn’t glance around Lucius’ room, which he had never seen before. Instead he stared straight at the blond, who was slowly lifting his shirt over his head, his robes already pooled by his feet and his shoes having been kicked to some unknown corner of the room. He was standing there now in only a pair of trousers that had been unbuttoned, and pushed down to his hips. Harry glanced at the trail of blonde hair that led downwards, then at the fabric that hid the prize his eyes sought. He had seen it all before of course, but not here, not in Lucius’ rooms, while knowing that they would be doing _it_ , and that made all the difference. He saw Lucius in a whole new light, still gorgeous and wonderful and brave and loyal and kind and loving and handsome and fit, but his, completely his now, as Harry would be only Lucius’ after tonight. And Harry was in awe of it all. 

“Well, Mr Potter, fancy seeing you here,” Lucius drawled, lifting one leg onto the bed and resting there, legs spread and torso so close but just out of Harry’s reach. “What would your lover say?” 

“Why don’t you ask him?” Harry laughed, and with that he pushed upwards, wrapped his arms around Lucius’ neck and pulled him down on top of himself. Pinned to the bed by Lucius’ body, his legs pressed in between the v of Harry’s thighs and Lucius’ fingers on the buttons of Harry’s shirt, the teenager reached up to kiss the elder man again. 

“He’s very happy to see you here,” Lucius whispered, trailing kisses along Harry’s jaw.

“Is he?” Harry asked, before thrusting his hips up to brush against the bulge in Lucius’ trousers. “And here I thought that was a wand in your pocket.”

“Speaking of wands,” Lucius murmured reaching for his. With a flick of the wand, Harry was undressed, shivering beneath Lucius on the bed, and the death eater grinned down at him, moving lower and lower as he pressed kisses first to Harry’s throat, then his chest, his stomach and his thighs. Harry panted softly beneath him, spreading his legs wider in invitation, moaning lightly at the first touch of Lucius’ tongue on his cock. 

Harry arched his back, hissing softly through his teeth as Lucius swallowed him whole. It was hot, and wet, and wonderful and Harry groaned in disappointment as Lucius pulled away after a moment. But then he was back again, his mouth on Harry’s cock, and one finger twirling restlessly around and around Harry’s pucker, pushed in-between the cheeks of his arse. When the finger was inside of him, Lucius swallowed, and Harry cried out, fisting his hands into the sheets by his waist. They had used one finger before, inside of him, touching and prodding and caressing him, twisting in his flesh and stroking that wonderful nub that made him see stars. But Lucius had only ever used one finger. Never any more.

But today the blonde called a jar of lubricant to him from the bedside table drawer, and he somehow managed to liberally coat his fingers in the substance while sucking on Harry’s cock. Two fingers pressed into him this time, stretching him and stinging him and Lucius glanced up at Harry’s pained gasp. The teenager offered a soft smile, unclenching his muscles and nodding for Lucius to continue. And continue Lucius did, one finger after the other until three were fully inside, and he could stretch and scissor them as far as was reasonable. His free hand tugged at Harry’s scrotum, rolling the balls in the palm of his hand, while the fingers of the other hand pressed sharply into Harry’s prostate. Lucius swallowed around him once more, and it was enough: with a cry Harry’s back arched and he came, filling his lover’s mouth with himself, and the blonde swallowed again, eyes darting up to meet Harry’s as he sucked the boy through his orgasm. His hands caressed the inside of the brunette’s thighs softly, before one moved to coat his own erection with lube. 

Lucius’ trousers were still on, pushed down past his hips to free his cock and balls, but Lucius left them there. Instead, he used the lull, the lack of tension in Harry’s body after his orgasm to slide up the bed and into the boy. 

Harry cried out as he was filled, taken for the first time ever. He felt full, too full, unused to the feeling and the burning that followed the invasion. There was a dull pleasure thumping just behind his eyes when he closed them, reminders of what Lucius’ fingers could do against his prostate, and thoughts of what his much bigger cock could do instead, and he forced himself to relax around the flesh that intruded upon him. Lucius held himself up with his arms on either side of Harry’s head, straining and shaking with the strength it took to keep himself from fucking into Harry’s body, from enjoying the heat and the tightness that surrounded him so willingly. But Harry needed time. He needed Lucius to wait, and for his first time of all times, Lucius would give Harry what he needed. 

“Now,” the boy whispered as soon as the stinging sensations passed. He still felt too full, like he needed to go to the toilet but couldn’t, but as Lucius began to move, pulling out and pushing back in slowly, and then gradually faster, that feeling passed. It was no longer about being too full, but about being too empty, and with every attempt Lucius made to leave his body Harry tightened his hold on him (his arms around Lucius’ neck, his legs around Lucius’ waist, his mouth biting down on Lucius’ neck to muffle his cries) trying to keep the elder man inside of him. 

Lucius leant down over him, panting into his hair or against his cheek or his throat, alternating between kissing Harry softly and furiously, nails biting into the flesh of Harry’s hips, his shoulders, and the zipper of Lucius’ trousers rubbing against Harry’s arse with every thrust, the friction of it more painful than pleasurable, but Harry met every thrust with one his own regardless. 

“I love you,” the boy cried, head thrown back; back arching off the bed as a particularly forceful thrust struck his prostate. 

“Marry me,” Lucius whispered, his face against Harry’s, their foreheads pressed together sticky and sweaty and flushed. 

“Yes!” Harry hissed as he came, clinging to Lucius’ shoulders so hard he drew blood with his nails. His insides clamped down around his lover’s cock, squeezing and releasing it, as Harry trembled with release. It coated the boys stomach, and Lucius’ too as the man thrust down twice, three times more, pressing their stomachs together, trying to get closer to the boy beneath him as he came too, his cry muffled by Harry’s hair. 

When they had both stopped shaking, Lucius pulled himself out and lifted himself off of the teenager. He stayed hovering over the prone body though, glancing down at the red face and the sweaty chest and the semen smeared stomach and groin, and then further to the trembling thighs that had moments ago been wrapped around his waist. Lucius pressed a hand between their bodies, one finger pushing back inside of Harry’s arse, but it came away without blood, but sticky with cum, which he offered to Harry. Harry’s tongue flicked out to taste Lucius’ seed, and the man sat back on his heels, kneeling over Harry instead of lying over him. His free hand, since it wasn’t being used to prop himself up, went to his trousers, but instead of fastening them or removing them, it pulled something from the pocket. 

Harry trailed his own hand through his come, stroking lightly across his own stomach, before hesitantly offering it to Lucius. The man smirked, face softened except for around the lips where the grin stretched from ear to ear, and he took the offered hand, sucked the semen from Harry’s fingers and then put something in its place. 

When Harry was given his hand back, Lucius’ ring sat proudly on his finger once more. Lucius looked down at him smugly. 

“Sneaky Slytherin,” Harry chuckled breathlessly. He pulled Lucius back down for a kiss, their mouths meeting in a slow smooth movement that was second nature to them both. 

“Hmm, and yet you’ll marry me anyway.” 

“Of course I will, I love you. I can’t wait to marry you.” Harry grinned up at him, arms around Lucius’ neck, until the man relented and lay back between Harry’s spread legs. 

Harry was interested again, Lucius noticed, and thought smugly to himself that Harry was his now, he had forever to do this, to do anything, with the boy who had offered himself up on a silver platter to a man who didn’t really deserve him at all. “And I love you too, my bethroved,” the man whispered, capturing Harry’s hand to press a kiss to the ringed finger.

 _XXX_

February 24th 1995. Hogwarts. 

Gillyweed was a funny plant. Once ingested, it created gills and fins on the person who had used it, which helped a lot when that person was underwater. But wasn’t so useful, as Harry discovered, if you ate the plant while still on land. Gasping for air, Harry clutched at his throat, ignoring the strange sensations of gills opening and closing desperately against the palms of his hands. His eyes watched, wide and desperate, as the judges counted down to the start of the Second Task. 

He was going first, since he was in the lead, followed by Viktor Krum. Viktor, Cedric and Fleur were all poised and ready, waiting in their bathing suits at the edge of the magic-made dock that floated above the Black Lake. Crowds of people hovered around them, with screens of swirling silver magic before them that would show everything that happened under water. Lucius was there, seated with his Slytherin friends, and Evan, Snape and Luna. Hermione, as Viktor’s girlfriend was probably seated with his supportive parents. Cedric’s family was somewhere out there, and Fleur’s were right there though her little sister seemed to be absent. Harry couldn’t see Draco either, though he was more worried about asphyxiating than he was about tracking down his missing friend, when really, it was his lover who should have been missing, considering Lucius was the thing that Harry treasured most. 

His chest was heaving, and he thought he might be sick. He wondered, absently, did people get sick when they suffocated to death, or was he just strange and unusual? But then the judges were shouting something, and Harry hoped it was “ _go_ ”, because he had already flailed his way over the edge of the dock and into the water. 

And then he was swimming. It came as easily to him as breathing had used to, even though he had never had a lesson in his life. But his feet were like a duck’s, and so were his hands: webbed, and they glided through the water like a knife through butter and Harry allowed them to lead him deeper and deeper into the black lake, trying to stay ahead of the next Tri-Wizard Champion to enter the lake. 

Idly, he thought about what he might find. It wouldn’t be Lucius, or his dad, or Luna who was fast becoming the closest thing to a sister he might ever have. It wouldn’t be Hermione, because Harry didn’t consider her enough of a friend, family, essential enough to warrant her being the thing he’s treasure most. It wasn’t Theo, nor was it Draco, or was it? Could it be Draco, because Harry hadn’t seen him in the stands, but that wouldn’t make sense since it should have been Lucius who was present and not the man’s son who took Lucius’ place at the Yule Ball, because the elder man wasn’t invited? It would make more sense than if it were Voldemort Harry was expected to rescue, and Merlin Harry hoped it wasn’t Voldemort, because what possible ramifications of that could he handle? 

Yet, there Draco was. He was unconscious, floating beside Hermione, Cho Chang and a very young girl who Harry recognized as Fleur’s sister. They were all tied to the base of a large statue, guarded by a handful of armed merpeople. Harry gazed curiously at them, at their tails and their scales and their hair that resembled seaweed that had dried out, and their tridents and tiaras and their narrowed slitted eyes that reminded him of something out of a nightmare. He made sure to stay away from them if he could, swimming cautiously towards Draco and tugging at the ropes that held his friend hostage. The ropes gave way, and Harry took the boy into his arms and aimed his wand at the ground. 

“ **Expelliarmus**!” He cried. The jet of light that hit the sea bed was enough to propel him and Draco both to the surface of the lake. They flew past a swarm of Grindylow, and the fighting figure of Fleur Delacour who was trapped in their grasps. They shot out of the water, landing with a crack on the floating jetty that marked the Champions starting point. Harry was quick to cast a _bubble-head charm_ around himself, not keen to repeat his experience with slow near-suffocation. Draco stirred feebly in his arms, and Harry backed away as the resident medi-Witch descended upon them. 

“He’ll be alright, dear,” Poppy Pomfrey told him, as Draco opened his eyes. “And you’ll be right as rain too, once the gillyweed breaks down. Only a few minutes left of it now anyway.” She left them then, to tend to Viktor who had appeared out of the water. His head was transfigured to look like a shark, and Hermione who hung limply from his grasp was bleeding sluggishly on her arms and wrists where he had caught her with his teeth while tearing through the ropes. Viktor lost points for harming his treasure. 

Fleur was rescued from the grindylows, and sat beside Harry crying hopelessly about her sister’s death being her fault when Cedric appeared, three minutes after the hour mark with Cho Chang and Gabrielle Delacour floating behind him, tied together with conjured rope. 

Harry came first, Fleur last, but Cedric was awarded extra points for his bravery and a kiss from Fleur for saving her little sister, and ended up tied in the lead with Harry. 

“That’s pants,” Draco muttered, later, as they made their way to the great hall. 

Hogwarts was putting on a show for the visiting families of the Champions by throwing a lavish feast, including expensive champagne for those old enough, and plenty of desert and pudding. Lucius took a seat beside his bethroved, not his fiancée as Harry wasn’t yet old enough, and Draco took Harry’s other side. 

“Yeah well, it’s not like Cedric knew the teachers would have rescued the little girl if her sister hadn’t. He was being a nice guy.” Theodore said, shrugging his shoulders. “Not fair that Harry isn’t winning now because of it.”

“What isn’t fair is using that little girl in the first place. What was she, eight or nine? Ten? But they wouldn’t use Lucius?” 

“The Headmaster brought us to a meeting the week before the task, Harry. He explained that there were rules about who could be used and who couldn’t be. Apparently, since father is capable of defending himself, and wouldn’t have in usual circumstances relied on you to protect him, then he was excluded from the task.”

“So, it’s ok to potentially drown a nine-year-old girl, because she _can’t_ defend herself, but not a fully grown adult Wizard who _can_? Now that’s pants.” The brunette ranted, glancing around at his amused friends and family. 

“That’s the Ministry of Magic,” Lucius drawled, leaning over to press a soft kiss to Harry’s hair, “its workers aren’t known for their logic, I’m afraid.”

“That can be changed,” Harry whispered. His eyes darted between Evan and Lucius, and then up at Severus Snape who watched him intently as if trying to see inside his mind. All three of them were Death Eaters, all of them who knew the Dark Lord would soon return. Harry knew if anyone could change things, it would be Him, and Harry looked forward to it. 

**XXX**


	48. Chapter 47

**Words:** 3,228  
 **Chapter 47**  
March 5th 1995. Hogwarts.

Potions class was always, without fail, the quietest lesson Harry had to endure ever. There was never noise, or when there were a few hushed or whispered conversations Professor Snape would be quick to end them. Generally by a smack to the back of the head, or through the docking of many, many house points and a well formulated half-insult that some could mistake for a compliment, until realisation set in twenty minutes later and it was too late to utter a comeback (that would likely land them in detention anyway). Snape’s voice occasionally broke the silence, or the ‘swish, swish’ of a ladle stirring whatever potion they were brewing, or the roaring of the flames on the burner. Every now and then, someone would drop something but be too afraid of scrapping their chair against the floor to reach down and pick it up, and they’d sit there awkwardly for a moment under the intense gaze of their professor until they remembered they had magic and could levitate the fallen ingredient back onto their desk. 

But never before had the silence been broken by the sound of the classroom door slamming open and bouncing off the wall. Every head in the room looked up, snapping in the direction of the doorway and the man framed therein. Snape’s mouth curled down, and his hands clenched, as he turned bodily around to face the intruder. 

Igor Karkaroff already had the left sleeve of his robe half pushed up, arm held out towards Severus as he made his way further into the room. Harry watched him with narrowed eyes, catching mumbled words as the man hissed beneath his breath, realizing there was a class full of teenagers watching him. He didn’t say anymore, anything other than the “Severus its back!” he had cried as he threw open the classroom door, but Snape looked fit to kill him. 

The potions master grabbed Karkaroff, and began dragging the Highmaster of Durmstrang out of the classroom. Harry turned at his desk, watching the two men amble into the corridor, one pushing and the other trying unsuccessfully to pull his sleeve up further, to prove his point. Snape grabbed the arm, yanked on it until the sleeve rolled back down, and then he leaned right in to Karkaroff’s face and snarled, “you stupid man. Get out of my sight.”

“But Severus!” He tried to protest, reaching out to fist the front of Snape’s robes. Igor looked up, looked over Snape’s shoulder for a moment and caught Harry’s gaze. 

Harry watched him, eyes drilling into his own for those moments, as his right hand cupped the space on his left arm where the Dark Mark might one day go. Snape had one, though Harry hadn’t ever seen it, Lucius had one and Evan had one, and he was intimately familiar with Lucius’ at least to know one when he saw it. Despite only catching a glimpse of the bottom half of the mark, Harry knew that Karkaroff bore one, and that his (like many others) was beginning to turn jet black again; no longer the faded reminder of Lord Voldemort’s temporary absence and defeat. 

He was coming back. And Karkaroff was scared by it. 

Snape seemed to notice Igor’s lack of attention, and turned his head to glance behind him. He glanced over Harry’s face, the confused yet intent look the boy sported, and then down at the way he was rubbing his left arm. Snape sighed, shoving Karkaroff once more before letting him go. The door closed in the Highmaster’s face, and Professor Snape turned a furious glare onto his students, his arms crossed before his chest. 

“ _Continue_ ,” he hissed, eyes narrowing as everyone turned to do as he bid, except Harry. Harry’s partner, a fellow Ravenclaw nudged the boy nervously, but Harry continued to watch his professor instead of his potion. “Detention, Potter. With me, tonight. Now, continue.”

 _XXX_

March 6th 1995. Hogsmeade. 

Severus Snape was a man that Harry just couldn’t get his head around. One minute the man was flinging detentions at him just because Harry _looked_ at him, and the next he was sitting the boy down, making him scrub potions, and casually asking if ‘everything is alright with Lucius’. He was throwing Dark curses at him in the forbidden forest one second, and then wanting to know if he was happy, if he was safe. Snape was hitting him over the head for not paying attention, then one-eighty-ing and demanding to know if Lucius had ever hurt him, if Lucius took precautions, if anyone had hurt him. 

The way Snape had said ‘anyone’, with narrowed eyes and distaste on his face, Harry got the feeling he was either talking about Sirius or Remus, but the way his left arm flexed made him think of Voldemort. So Harry had just said no and tried to look as confused as possible. He didn’t want to hint at knowing Voldemort, at having met him, because Harry wasn’t sure what Snape was all about. Lucius trusted him, thought of the man as his brother though one he was slightly estranged from since Snape started working at Hogwarts. Evan despised him, considered him a traitor and a weak link. Sirius thought he was a nasty waste of space, and Remus was unusually silent on the matter. Harry respected his skills, and his achievements, but he didn’t particularly like the man. He did, however, like that Snape agreed to teach him duelling because Lucius had asked a favour, and that he taught fairly this time, hard-core and hands on, but without the usual bitter and hurtful comments that accompanied his potions lessons. 

There were so many opinions about the man, so many faces Snape had shown; different sides to the same coin, and Harry wasn’t sure which was real and which wasn’t. 

“What’s the story with Snape?” Harry asked, sitting down at the table across from his birth father’s friends. 

It was a Hogsmeade weekend, and the town was once more over run with students. Harry had been planning to sneak off with Draco and Theo to Diagon Alley, since they had permission from the board of governors to meet their families for lunch, and Harry had too, but they all knew better than to inform Dumbledore of that fact. His plans had been curtailed, however, when Sirius had written and asked to meet for lunch at the Three Broomsticks instead. Harry had agreed to go, because Sirius was still his magical guardian and his godfather, and Remus meant well though he went about it the wrong way. 

Also, Harry sort of wanted to show off his promise ring. It was beautiful, all platinum and diamonds, sparkling wildly on his ring finger. Upon his fifteenth birthday, when Lucius officially proposed, the ring would change magically into an engagement ring. Harry wasn’t sure how it would be different, but he assumed that instead of having four diamonds spread along the top of the ring, he’d end up with only one in the centre, (a large one probably), like a custom engagement ring. It was a ring from Lucius, so no matter what happened with it, Harry knew it would look fantastic. 

He held his hands out in front of him, curled around the bottle of Butterbeer Remus bought him. The ring was on display, and Sirius had yet to take his eyes off of it. 

“Congratulations.” Remus whispered, because it was polite. They had known Lucius was Courting Harry; it had been in the papers, after all. But this was the first time they had seen or even known of the ring. Harry was officially no longer to be considered courting as in ‘scooping out the possibility of marriage’. He was being _Courted_ with full intent upon marriage. There was no what if, no maybe, no maybe not’s left. Marriage was going to happen now, and it was only sinking in that Harry had tied himself forever to Lucius Malfoy. 

“Does he treat you ok?” Remus asked, reaching over to squeeze Sirius’ arm when the man let out a strangled sound. 

“He’s perfect. He’s kind and attentive, and affectionate, patient and considerate,” Harry told them breathlessly. His cheeks had gone red, thinking about just how _considerate_ Lucius could be. Green eyes warmed, catching Sirius’ gaze before darting away again. “He’s more than I could have dared hope for. I love him, and he loves me too. He makes me happy.”

“Are-,” Sirius cleared his throat loudly. He took a sip of his own Butterbeer before trying again. “You’re not, you know, intimate right?” Sirius had gone horrible red as well. Remus was glancing away from the table, clearing his throat in embarrassment. 

Harry tried to respond, but he couldn’t make himself do anything but stutter. His hands shook, making the bottle they were curled around dance on the table. “We… I mean… does that… it’s not really your business!” 

“HARRY!” Sirius shouted, looking stunned. He had figured, back in the summer when Harry kept sneaking out to see somebody, that the boy was probably having sex or coming close to it. He, as Harry’s guardian, had worried terribly about Harry getting some girl pregnant, or worse, a boy and having no idea that it could be possible. And that had been ok, that Harry was having sex, as long as he was careful, because that’s what teenagers did. That’s what Sirius did as a teenager. But he didn’t, he had never, would never, have sex with a man older than his own father. That Harry was now the one at risk of an unintentional pregnancy made everything different, it made everything scarier, and it made Sirius much less understanding. “What were you thinking?!”

“You’re fourteen, Harry!” Remus butted in. “He should never have taken advantage of you!”

Sirius and Harry both glanced at Remus, wide eyed. That hadn’t actually occurred to Sirius. Well, yes, he knew Harry was only fourteen, but Harry was the one being courted, Harry set the boundaries not Lucius so it had been Harry’s decision. Lucius would never have touched him if Harry hadn’t wanted him to, and they were (age aside) technically engaged. It wasn’t like Harry was just some random boy that Lucius had decided to fuck and then discard. It wasn’t about his age, because Harry had never really been a child, anyone could see that from the way he acted. He had grown up too fast to use his age against him now. But he was still so young, so sheltered? Did he even know about the risks? 

“Remus, it was my decision! He’s my fiancé so I can do what I want with him. It’s not your business!” Harry hissed, his face burning red. 

“Harry, at least tell me you were being careful?” Sirius pleaded, reaching across the table to grab one of Harry’s hands. He wondered how long ago they had last had sex, how often, how likely it was that Harry was already pregnant and just didn’t know it yet. “You are taking precautions right, when you, you know?”

“Oh Merlin. I had sex once. One time, Sirius. The world isn’t going to end because I did it once! And Lucius made sure he was careful, so he didn’t hurt me if that’s what you mean by precaution!” 

Remus narrowed his eyes. It was like a light bulb had gone off over his head, because he grinned suddenly, remembering something he had been told when he started working at Hogwarts last year. “Do you drink the pumpkin juice, Harry?” 

“Yeah, why?” Harry asked. He tilted his head to one side, studying the relieved grin that crossed the werewolf’s face. 

“It’s ok, Siri. Albus told me last year that Severus provides a contraceptive potion to the house elves, who spike the pumpkin juice with it. It’s traditionally why the teachers sit at the head of the great hall, so they can see who doesn’t drink anything at breakfast, lunch or dinner.” Remus smiled over at his friend. “As long as you keep drinking the pumpkin juice, you only have to worry about taking preventative measures during the holidays, Harry.”

“Preventative?” The boy muttered, “For what? To prevent what?” 

And that was what Sirius meant by Harry being too young. Not that he was _young_ in age, because Sirius came from a family who had tried to marry him off at twelve and his cousins off at thirteen, but young in the ways of their world, ignorant of the bigger picture and the risks inherent in growing up. 

“Pregnancy,” Sirius told him, because obviously no one else had. Maybe they all had just assumed, thinking someone else would be the one to give the birds and the bees talk that Harry obviously needed, and no one had done it right. Evan had tried, explaining the basics in a slow, patient manner, but back then Harry hadn’t really known Lucius, hadn’t shown interest in anyone let alone a man, and Evan had skipped over all of the parts that he felt weren’t necessary, hoping to end the conversation as soon as possible. Remus and Sirius had both tried last year, but both assuming that Harry would be the dominant in any relationship, had likewise skipped the possibility of _Harry_ ending up pregnant. 

Harry’s face turned bright red. “Oh,” he mumbled, “right. Well, not pregnant, so,” he said, clearing his throat. “Can we change the subject?” He scuffed his feet against the ground, chewing nervously on his bottom lip until Sirius nodded slowly. “Tell me about Snape?”

“What about Snivellus?” Sirius asked, sneering at the mention of the other man’s name. 

Remus elbowed Sirius in the side, smiling patiently at Harry at the same time. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, he’s such a bastard to me. He always has been, and I just figured I’d done something to deserve it, but Lucius,” (and Evan, he added mentally) “said it was because he hated my father. But lately, he hasn’t been so bad. I mean, it might have something to do with him being friends with Lucius, but I don’t see why he’d keep checking up on me when he could just ask Lucius? He shouldn’t care if Lucius hurts me; he’s Lucius’ friend, not mine. But he keeps asking, and checking, and making me swear to tell him if Lucius does something he shouldn’t. I appreciate it, it’s just… I can’t pin him down. Every time I think I have him figured out, he does something to surprise me, something unexpected.” Harry glanced away, chewing his bottom lip again. “I think,” he added after a pause and a deep breath, “I could really like the man, but I’m afraid to. In case this is all some game, or a plot, or something Lucius forced him to do that he doesn’t mean. I don’t want to be friends with someone who doesn’t mean it, you know? But I want to give him a chance because he is Lucius’ best friend.”

Sirius looked like he had swallowed something sour. Remus on the other hand just looked sad. He folded his hands under his chin, and sighed. Tawny hair fell into his eyes, and he blew it back before reaching for Harry’s hand. The boy pulled away, and Remus let him, understanding that he had probably pushed Harry away last year by trying to force the boy to be James’ double. 

“Severus has had a hard life. His father was, well, horrible isn’t enough to describe it. From what I know his father was responsible for his mother’s death, and Severus joined You-Know-Who to seek revenge on the man. He changed sides afterwards, though no one knows why. Your mother might have, but well, she and your father were already in hiding by then, and you as well. Severus spied on You-Know-Who, he promised to protect you always, and while it wasn’t said, acknowledged, I know he did it all for your mother. He was very fond of Lily in school.” Sirius snorted here, and Harry got the feeling Snape was more than ‘fond’ of her.

“They were friends since childhood, having known each other since before Hogwarts.” Remus continued. “He loved her very much, but well, your father, Sirius and I weren’t very nice to him in school which is probably why he hates you. There was a fight, later in school, after the OWLs, and your mother tried to help. Severus was embarrassed and angry and I’m sure he’s regretted it ever since but he insulted your mother and they never spoke since. Lily always defended him though, at Order meetings, and in her letters after you went into hiding and he joined the Order. But, well, they were never friends again.”

“He was always sniffing around though, if Lily was in Diagon Alley. Especially when she was pregnant with you. We sort of thought he might try something to hurt you, you know, to get revenge on James. But he used to just stare at her stomach like he couldn’t understand what was happening, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He was probably imagining that you were his,” Sirius spoke with a sneer and narrowed eyes. 

“Nobody has ever said, and I’ve never been brave enough to ask, but it is my belief that if faced with the possibility, Severus Snape would choose to die to protect the son of the woman he loved than to stand aside and watch you die. He is a lot like Lily in some respects, Harry, and for that reason alone I think you should give him a chance if that is what you desire. He is a good man. Your mother thought so, I think so, the Headmaster thinks so too.”

“And Voldemort? What does he think?” Harry asked. His heart beat hard inside his chest. The man he was growing to respect, Lucius’ brother, was a traitor just like Evan had always said. But he was a traitor who had loved the woman who gave her life for Harry, his mother, Lily Evans, and he was trying to protect Harry from Lucius, from Voldemort and from himself. Harry wasn’t sure why he needed to know, but he had asked anyway, ignoring the flinch both Gryffindors gave at the name. 

“You-Know-Who believes Severus was spying on us for him. But it was always the other way around. Severus swore to protect you, Harry. He could never be loyal to someone who would wish you harm.” Remus promised him, trying once more to squeeze Harry’s hand. The boy let him this time, smiling softly at the werewolf and then his godfather as his mind raced. 

Snape couldn’t follow Voldemort if Voldemort wanted to hurt him. But what if Voldemort didn’t? Harry thought about it, about the consequences. He wouldn’t tell the Dark Lord, not yet, until he was sure how the man would react and whether anything Harry did could save Snape from his wrath. But Snape? Could he tell Snape? Perhaps, but Harry didn’t know how Snape would react either… If Snape knew that Harry was safe from Voldemort, would he betray the light to protect Harry from _them_? That was a question that would need to be answered before Harry told anyone anything. 

**XXX**


	49. Chapter 48

Warnings: Sex, lots of sex, underage, and cursing, and Howler-abuse, and non-con if you’re very particular about warnings… 

ALSO! ASKGFD! EXAMS! :(

*

 **Words:** 5,776  
 **Chapter 48**  
March 9th 1995. Hogwarts. 

Breakfast that morning was an odd affair. Harry had stumbled into the Great Hall, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes because that morning was one of the oddly occasional mornings where he had overslept and Terry Boot had been forced to drag him from the bed by his ankles. Grumbling, and throwing the occasional hex at the retreating Ravenclaw fourth year who had been _trying_ to help, Harry had dressed, yawning widely, and made his way down to breakfast. His backside was just about touching the bench when Luna had appeared beside him, her pale hand on his arm, her grip firmer than Harry would have given her credit for. The next thing he knew he was standing, being tugged firmly towards the other end of the Ravenclaw table, where Luna’s breakfast was half-finished and Hermione Granger sat reading a book. 

“She made me sit here too,” Hermione said softly in greeting, glancing up quickly. 

“Morning,” Harry yawned more than said. It was mornings like these, when he had double potions first thing, that Harry regretted the duelling lessons with Snape. They kept him up half the night, under the guise of ‘detention’, and he was so exhausted, magically and bodily, that he physically couldn’t get up the mornings after, but falling asleep in potions class meant that he’d end up with an _actual_ detention. 

Luna hummed softly from her seat beside him. She continued to demolish the bowl of scrambled eggs that sat before her, topping it up whenever it reached three-quarters empty. “The post is here,” she told them needlessly, through a mouthful of chewed-up toast.

Harry didn’t pay her much attention; he was used to her behaviour, knowing she was only doing it for the pleasure of watching Hermione’s face scrunch up in disgust at the sight. 

He did, however, glance up at the charmed ceiling and the wide open windows, searching the circling swarm of owls for his own beloved Hedwig, or for Lucius’ eagle-owl, or for whatever bird was currently in the service of Evan or Voldemort. 

“Remember that article?” Luna asked suddenly, eyeing the owls with something like amusement as several of them veered away from the flock and came towards Harry. “The one in November? About you and Hermione?” Harry and Hermione both furrowed their brows, trying to remember what Luna was referring to, and both shook their heads simultaneously, because after all November was a long time ago and a lot had happened since then. “Well, it seems your mail box has finally become full.”

As the owls dropped their letters, in Harry’s case, and Howlers for Hermione, Harry thought back to something he had read in **Hogwarts: A History** , something about each student being magically assigned a shoebox, where any threatening or potentially harmful correspondence was automatically transferred by the wards surrounding the school. It seemed a bit counterproductive though, he thought as the first Howler sprang to life, to protect the students first and then unleash masses of ‘dangerous correspondence’ on them at once when the mailbox was finally full up. 

“ **HOW DARE YOU CHEAT ON VIKTOR KRUM!!** ” One Howler began, the woman’s voice harsh and piercing. Across the Hall at the Slytherin table, Viktor turned around, glancing at Hermione with a confused frown. She simply shrugged at him, looking as bewildered as she felt, before glancing at Harry as if he could help her. 

“ **YOU BROKE POOR HARRY POTTER’S HEART, YOU HORRID WOMAN!** ” Another shrieked, and another, and another, all insulting, all vicious, all cruel. One even called her a “ **MUDBLOOD DAUGHTER OF A MUGGLE WHORE** ” and went on to sort of half-compliment Harry and then insult him a moment later by dragging his mother’s blood-status into it. 

The sight of Hermione bursting into tears, and the sound of sniggering spreading through the hall, was enough to break Harry out of his musings as to why these Howlers were blocked, but Mrs Weasleys’ weren’t. 

“ _Incendio_!” He cast, one after another, and again, until all of the Howlers were little more than specks of ash on the table. Harry blew at the piles, spreading them away from them, away from Hermione. “You ok?” he asked her softly. 

She gave a small sniffle, keeping her head ducked down so he wouldn’t see the tears on her cheeks. But she shrugged at him, and asked, “What did you get?” Perhaps a part of her was hoping that he would be as abused and humiliated as she had been, but that part of her was left unsatisfied in some ways. Because Harry hadn’t received any Howlers, or written insults, or death threats. Instead, the owls had brought him a shoebox full of marriage proposals. 

Harry flicked through the top few quickly, his face turning red at some of the things that had been written to him. One letter even dated back four years, to when Harry would have been ten, and the sender, a 69-year-old Witch from Wales had offered to have his baby for a million galleons in child support. Last year, a teenager had offered him _her_ toddler if Harry let her give him a blowjob. Another offered him the use of her ovaries, because she wasn’t using them anyway, and they might as well start breeding an army of superhero-Boy-Who-Lived-children1. Harry furrowed his brows, not sure whether to smile or cringe at some of the letters, until he picked up one that literally had his breath catching in his throat. Ginny Weasley had written him a love poem. A very bad one, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Harry read it softly, under his breath, but beside him Luna gave a small huff of laughter that meant he hadn’t been reading quietly enough. 

“Are they very bad?” Hermione asked, catching the blush on his cheeks. 

“Not really. Mostly, it’s kind of gross. A 94-year-old Wizard from Aberdeen would like to buy my kidneys because his are failing, and he’s offered me two out of three of his granddaughters.”

“Isn’t that kind of him?” Hermione asked, though she didn’t look like she was sure it was. Mostly she looked a little horrified by the idea of selling children for body parts. 

“Yeah, except the youngest one is six and the eldest is eleven, and is in Hufflepuff, and is looking this way right now. Oh Merlin!” Harry groaned, sliding down in his seat in an attempt to hide from the little blond Hufflepuff that was glancing curiously his way. “Pretend this conversation never happened,” Harry instructed them firmly, tucking all of the letters bar the one from Ginny back into the box. He kept Ginny’s one, and tucked it into his pocket; it should keep Draco entertained for at least an hour this evening, so Harry might have some chance of finishing his Transfiguration essay in peace. 

_XXX_

March 20th 1995. 

His hands were tied above his head. Harry strained against the scarves that bound him, woven green and silver, soft and expensive, and tied in knots around his wrists and the headboard bars. He wasn’t sure how he had gotten this way, naked and bound, because the last thing he remembered was climbing into bed in the Ravenclaw tower, fully dressed in his favourite pyjamas, and definitely not tied up. 

But here he was, bound and helpless, and painfully erect the second Lucius Malfoy stepped out of the shadows and towards his bed. 

It was a dream, Harry realized on some subconscious level. He took in the strange fedora Lucius was wearing, and the unrealistically large smile that dominated the man’s pale features, stretching his mouth unnaturally wide, and the ways the fingers on his hand kept growing and stretching until they were abnormally long and thin, like bones stripped of their meat, and then filling out again until they were Lucius’ once more. He was dreaming, and what would have turned into a wonderful wet dream about his betrothed had somehow twisted and warped into something else. 

Harry wasn’t scared, so it wasn’t a nightmare, and he was still hard and wanting, straining up against his restraints even as his legs fell open in invitation, silently begging his lover to come between them, to fill him up. But it wasn’t Lucius that came forward.

It was something other.

There was no nice way to describe the person, nothing that wouldn’t sound cruel. Lucius’ hair shrivelled up until the person was bald. The mouth was still stretched wide, but the lips were gone, and the fingers were once more like bones. Lucius’ proud, roman nose had disappeared into his face, shrinking back into the skin as if in quicksand, and all that was left were two slits like a snake’s nostrils. The man stared at him, eyes wide and bloody, and Harry wasn’t sure if that was actually the colour of the creature’s irises, or if there was something _more_ wrong with this dream than he had first realised. 

It came towards him, slipping out of the heavy robes it had been wearing, until it too was naked and pale and erect, climbing up onto the bed to lie between Harry’s spread legs. 

He should scream, Harry thought. He should wake up. This wasn’t the way wet dreams were supposed to go, and he’d know, because Harry had had plenty. But it wasn’t like a real nightmare, because Harry had had plenty of those as well. As terrifying as the creature was to look at, he wasn’t afraid. Gentle hands cradled his face, and a mouth with no lips pressed softly into his, testing the waters, but Harry didn’t buck or scream or cry and so the creature kissed him harder, with more passion. Harry didn’t kiss back, but his lips were soft and pliant, and a tongue worked its way between them to taste Harry for the first time, even if only in a dream. 

And then a cold hand was on his cock, and Harry was jerking forward in his bed, surrounded by blue and bronze and the familiar snoring of his dormmates. But there was someone above him, someone real and tangible, pinning his arms above his head and pressing kisses to the column of his throat.

Harry’s mouth opened, a scream worked its way up into his throat, and his tongue got ready, about to release the sound, to wake a dormmate and seek rescue from the creature that had followed him out of his dreams. Until…

“I love you, beloved,” a voice rasped against his neck, and Harry automatically sagged back into the pillows, his panic evaporating. It was Lucius, it was _Lucius_!

Harry tugged his arms against Lucius’ grip, and the man let go straight away. There was a small grin on his face when Harry finally looked up to meet his eyes, and the makings of a bruise on his jaw. “Good dreams, beloved? You were thrashing so much I had to pin you down.”

“It was a strange dream, I don’t know what to make of it, but I don’t think it was good.” Harry told him after a moment’s silence. Did he tell Lucius about the dream? He didn’t think he had meant to dream about a monster trying to fuck him in Lucius’ bed, the bed where Harry had lost his virginity to his fiancé, but he had dreamed it nonetheless. Did the dream starting out with Lucius as its star count for anything in his defence, Harry wondered? 

“Your scar is red-looking,” Lucius told him, his voice soft. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” Harry answered quietly and honestly, because it didn’t hurt. He wouldn’t have even known there was anything off about his scar unless Lucius had brought it up first. Maybe it was something to do with the dream? Or maybe Voldemort was angry about something again, or _excited_ , the way he had been that time Harry watched him kill Frank Bryce? “How’d you get in here anyway?” Harry questioned, raising his hips up as Lucius started tugging down his pyjama bottoms. 

His shirt was unbuttoned before Harry realised that Lucius had no clothes to remove. They were either folded neatly on the dresser, or Lucius had come to his dorm stark naked, smug and confident that he could get away with it. 

“Severus let me in. It seems now, _I_ owe _him_ a favour, though it is not too steep a price to pay.” 

“Suppose I should make it worth your while then, yeah?” Harry asked, looking coyly up at Lucius through his lashes. The blush was back on his cheeks, and Lucius mouth was back on his neck and there were fingers pressing up into him as a cock grinded down against his own furiously. 

“Ride me,” Lucius told him, after what seemed like hours had passed and Harry was already sticky with ejaculate. His thighs burned and there was a dull sort of ache settling into the base of his back already, and Lucius was sweaty and flushed and panting, looking like the cat that caught the canary even as he rolled onto his back and allowed Harry to climb on top of him. This was their second night together; their fourth time having sex if you counted each act individually. But this was the first time Lucius had let Harry on top of him. 

Mind you, he wasn’t really topping, because Lucius was still inside of him, thick and long and hard as Harry slowly lowered himself down, one hand on Lucius’ stomach and the other gripping the base of the Wizard’s cock to hold it straight and steady. Harry seated himself fully after a few moments, gasping breathlessly as Lucius seemed to sink in further than he’d ever had before, Harry’s weight and gravity pulling him completely down onto the length that impaled him. Butterflies were alive in Harry’s stomach, his thighs trembled and his shoulder muscles bunched and un-bunched with nerves. 

“What do I do?” He asked voice breathy and raw from screaming. 

Lucius had put wards up around the bed after Harry’s first orgasm, when the boy had bitten into Lucius’ shoulder instead of allowing the blond to hear the extent of his pleasure. But Harry still spoke softly, until he was in the throes of ecstasy, whereas Lucius practically growled in return, voice deep and husky and full of lust. “Raise yourself up, almost all of the way off of me, and then drop back down.” 

Harry did as he was told, and nearly screamed once he was fully seated again and Lucius’ cock jabbed unexpectedly straight into his prostate. “Again, but lean forward this time, allow my cock to drag against it,” Lucius instructed, and Harry whimpered, the feeling of being so full, stretched wide open and filled up at the same time, coupled with the sensation of the cock scrapping against his prostate and the walls of his insides with each movement was too much. Harry wasn’t going to last long this time, but he continued to ride the blond man, thighs shaking and arms trembling, as Lucius’ hands on his waist guided him faster and harder, or shallower and slower. 

Mouths met, sloppily, before Harry threw his head back with a gasp as Lucius thrust up hard into him. The blond leant forward, raising himself up on his elbows so that he could lean forward and catch Harry’s left nipple in his mouth. He bit down hard, and the boy gave a horrid shriek, that trailed off into the most delightful moan Lucius had ever heard as he came so hard he blacked out. 

When Harry woke up again, he was on his back. His legs were spread, and lying limp on the bed, and his arms were pinned over his head, and Lucius was rocking lazily into him, delaying his own orgasm as he stroked Harry’s cock back to life. 

“Again?” Lucius asked, mouth curling at the corners because he knew what the answer would be even before he asked. 

“Again,” Harry told him firmly, and though his legs shook and his arse burned and his back ached, Harry wrapped his arms around Lucius’ neck and dragged the man down for a kiss, thrusting up to meet every demanding thrust, and offering his neck willingly whenever Lucius moved to bite and suck on his skin. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you,” Harry cried out, like a chant or a mantra, a prayer, each “I” sobbed as Lucius pulled out of him, and each “you” trailing off into a moan as Lucius pressed back inside, hard and furious and demanding. Harry would have bruises on his hips in the morning, and he’d have to spend a good portion of his bathroom routine trying to expel Lucius’ seed from his body even though he’d rather keep it inside of him where it belonged, and he probably wouldn’t be able to sit right or walk straight for a week. But if Lucius didn’t come with him this time, Harry would offer himself up again, because he would never, ever, get enough of Lucius Malfoy. 

_XXX_

March 21st 1995. Riddle Manor. 

Voldemort watched the boy sleep. 

He wasn’t really Voldemort, because in the real world Voldemort didn’t have a body, and he doubted that once he did have one it would look anything like the old Tom Riddle of his youth. But this Voldemort was Tom Riddle, because it was his mindscape, and his dream, and he could be whatever he wanted to be. 

Harry had not been afraid of him, of the physical manifestation of his tattered soul in flesh-form, but Harry hadn’t been very willing either. But this body, this appearance! People used to throw themselves at his feet when he was in school, begging for dates or attention or kisses from him, and he hadn’t ever felt an interest in them like the interest he had in Harry. There was something about the boy that called to him, that sang to his very being, and perhaps it was the Horcrux, the piece of himself wanting to come home, the piece that recognized him, the way Evan recognized it for what it was. But it wasn’t just the Horcrux. 

He hadn’t been able to feel it while possessing Gilderoy Lockhart, and even though Evan had shared that piece of information with him during that summer and their travels through Albania, Voldemort had never really believed him. Evan would not lie to him, he was far too loyal, though he was also unruly and arrogant and troublesome, refusing to cower before him or ever admit that _he_ was wrong (because Lord Voldemort never was, and one of them had to be at times), but there was something fantastical about the idea of the Chosen One being a Horcrux that made Voldemort inclined to not believe Evan Rosier. 

He had been proved wrong, though he would never admit it. But even before the belief, even before the knowledge was concrete, something about Harry Potter interested him. It enticed the part of his soul encased in the diary, and Tom, when Voldemort deigned to write with him, waxed poetic about Harry this and Harry that, and if not for Harry’s lover Tom probably would have been the one to take Harry to bed by now. The word ‘love’ was never used in their conversations, but Voldemort was sometimes left with the notion that Tom Riddle (what was left of him) fancied himself in love with the Boy-Who-Lived, and maybe he really was. It was thinking upon that idea, late at night when the homunculus could not sleep, because golems did not sleep at night but turn to sand, and Lord Voldemort refused to do anything so undignified, so… vulnerable, not again, not ever, that led to his current predicament. 

How did Tom know he was in love? 

And how was Voldemort supposed to know if _he_ was in love? He doubted it, but it didn’t hurt to consider all bases, to think on every option and weigh one against the other to reach a reasonable, proven conclusion. Love was something that Voldemort never saw himself succumbing to. It was a weakness that he had tried to rid himself of, along with most other human emotions, when he had made his Horcrux. And yet, one Horcrux had fallen in love, and another, Harry, apparently had too. 

Perhaps they were defective creations? Or perhaps Lord Voldemort felt more than he wished to admit to? 

He felt jealousy, he could admit to that. Each time Tom spoke about Harry’s lover, whose name Tom did not know, only that Harry had met his lover before meeting the Horcrux, and so Harry must have been quite young, Voldemort felt something clawing its way into his chest, burning and snarling, and eating away at something inside of him until he wanted nothing more than to _hurt_ somebody. But he didn’t know why. Why should it matter that Harry had a lover? Why should it matter that Harry _loved_? 

Voldemort had not been able to find out the name of the wizard who had seduced the boy wonder. Evan knew, of course, being Harry’s father in all but blood, but Evan couldn’t be threatened or tortured into divulging information he did not wish to part from. Wormtail did not know, and aside from Evan and Barty Crouch Jr., Voldemort had seen no one else since returning from Albania, since leaving Hogwarts and Lockhart behind actually! Barty could not leave Hogwarts, and Voldemort did not want to risk the man sending him letters under Dumbledore’s watchful eye, and so Bartemius was not much use for spying on Harry or his lover. 

Wormtail occasionally tried to sneak into the closest Wizarding district and steal a newspaper, but transforming from rat to supposedly-dead-man was rather conspicuous, and his animagus form was too small to drag the paper along behind him, let alone carry it in his mouth, the way Sirius had before. The last time Peter Pettigrew had tried, he had managed to make out the headline of the front cover and the first paragraph before he had been beaten away with the handle of a sweeping broom and had fled for his measly life. 

All that he could share with the Dark Lord was that Harry was being courted by a Pureblood man who was married. The paper was obviously a very old one, as Lucius was legally divorced now and he and Harry were not only lovers, but betrothed. But Voldemort didn’t know that. He did not realise Harry’s attachment, his feelings, were so great, so strong. And he saw no harm in trying to sway the boy’s attentions, to steal them for himself, for as long as it took to work out what exactly it was that had him so fascinated with the short, skinny boy spread out naked upon his dreamscape bed. 

Voldemort watched him, calmly at first, waiting with patience for Harry to wake up of his own accord. Harry’s body writhed occasionally, legs drawing up before lying flat again, fingers clenched at the sheets, at his naked stomach, at the air above him, as if clinging to something or someone Voldemort could not see. Then, as Voldemort’s carefully structured dream seduction and Harry’s dreams that always followed sex or masturbation merged together, the Dark Lord shed any pretence of patience, of calmness, or apathy. Jealousy burned in his red eyes, a sneer pulled at pale pink lips, and a horrid flush worked its way across pale, high cheek bones. Semen pooled on the bed beneath Harry’s arse, leaking out of him as the boy dreamed about Lucius pulling out, too sore and sated to consider holding it inside of him. Hickeys appeared on his neck, starting as tiny pinpricks of red, like the light from a laser, before growing and swirling outwards, painted on in reds and pinks, and purples, bruising and claiming Harry’s skin as _theirs_ while Voldemort watched with his hands clenched and his eyes narrowed.

Harry’s eyes finally fluttered open. 

With the first blink of confused green eyes, Voldemort surged forward, like a river battering down a dam. He pinned Harry to the bed, his arms held over his head by one of Voldemort’s pale hands, and his legs forced wider by Voldemort’s hips. Harry’s cock, half hard from his dream, pressed against Voldemort’s stomach, but the man ignored it, instead leaning down to bite Harry’s neck right over the biggest bruise until he could taste blood. He pulled away, pale pink lips stained with the faintest hint of red, and he ignored the soft sob Harry let out at the pain. 

“Who was it?” He asked, voice low and dangerous and much, much worse than if he had been screaming in anger. It was a slow kind of danger, that lulled you in and calmed you down, and then pounced once you were convinced it was safe and your guard was down, and then it tore you apart in its viciousness and its rage. “Who did you let do this to you?” 

Voldemort’s free hand darted down suddenly, nudging at Harry’s hole, slick with the ejaculate of Harry’s dream lover, fingering him just long enough to wet his fingers, and ignoring the distraught cry that Harry shouted at him, of “stop, Tom, stop it!” 

Voldemort held the hand up to Harry’s face, smearing the seed across the boy’s lips. “Whose is this, Harry? Who did you let fuck you? ANSWER ME!” 

“What are you doing?” Harry hissed at him instead, anger finally colouring his features, as he tried to buck Voldemort off of him. “Tom, get the fuck off of me now!” 

Voldemort hissed angrily, feeling jealous once more, at the sound of his Horcrux’s name on Harry’s lips, instead of his own. 

“I said, answer me.” Pale pink lips descended, brushing lightly across Harry’s own mouth as the boy struggled beneath him, mouth wet and sticky from where Voldemort had wiped semen across it. It was so different from their last kiss, where Harry had lay still and pliant as Voldemort tasted him, and the Dark Lord found he preferred the first kiss, the one where he could almost pretend Harry wanted him back. 

“That was unnecessary,” the Dark Lord told him, the closest to an apology that Harry would ever get for this violation. Voldemort got off of him, moving back to lean against the wall and he held his trembling hands behind his back where Harry would not see them. “But I will find out who he is.”

“Voldemort?” Harry breathed, eyes widening as realisation set in. This wasn’t Tom from the diary. This was the real Dark Lord, the real Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, master and commander and leader and lord all rolled into one, and he had pinned Harry to a bed inside of his dreams twice in one night and touched him without permission and forced kisses on him that Harry didn’t want, and hurt him. And yet… He still wasn’t afraid. He should be, he knew that, but he wasn’t. There was nothing to fear from Lord Voldemort right now, except perhaps Lucius’ safety, but Harry would talk to the blond about that when he woke up. Now though, to deal with an emotionally unstable Dark Lord. How did one go about doing as such anyway, Harry wondered. 

“It’s ok,” he said eventually, giving a small shrug. He sat up on the bed, curling his legs into his chest to hide his private parts behind them. “I’d like to wake up now, please, my Lord.” 

Voldemort waved his hand, a strange look crossing his face, before he was gone and Harry was blinking furiously against the light shining in through the gap in his bed curtains. His dormmates were awake; Harry could hear them moving around, shuffling and stumbling and was that Cornfoot stubbing his toe on the edge of Harry’s trunk again, the stupid muggleborn? He wondered how Lucius would escape unseen, and then realised it was a pointless thought, because he was alone in the bed and Lucius was long gone. 

“Harry?” Boot called softly, hesitant about dragging him out of the bed for the third morning in a row. “You coming to breakfast?”

“Yeah,” Harry said softly, glancing wistfully as the side of the pillow Lucius had lain his head on, blond hair surrounding him like a halo, wanting to have been able to wake beside the man again, like he had February 15th after losing his virginity. But it made more sense this way. If Lucius had been here when Harry woke, he would have gotten caught. Harry might be banned from seeing him on Hogwarts grounds, and Snape might have gotten into a lot of trouble. But, still, Harry wished. “I’m getting up now. I’ll meet you in the common room in a moment.”

When the dorm fell silent, and all of his roommates had left, Harry slid back his duvet. There were hand shaped bruises on his hips, he noticed, standing in front of the full length mirror that was mounted on the back of the door. His nipples were red and swollen from Lucius’ attentions, as were his lips, and there were hickeys on his stomach and thighs and neck. There were bruises on his arse too, handprint and finger-shaped, from Lucius’ orgasms, where he had forgotten his own strength. After casting a second locking spell, Harry turned around and bent over. He craned his neck, trying to see what he looked like from behind. As far as he could tell, his back was scratched up around his waist and his shoulders and his arsehole was horribly red and puffy. He thought about asking Dobby (one of his courting gifts from Lucius, though kind and loyal as any house elf could be, was a little exuberant, too much so for a Malfoys tastes) for a cream or potion of some sort, because Harry didn’t think he’d be able to go to the toilet painlessly for at least a few days, and that just wasn’t healthy. But the mark that stood out the most was the only one that hadn’t been left by Lucius Malfoy. 

On the left side of his neck, was the perfect imprint of teeth upon flesh. A complete circle of teeth marks, overlapping with a hickey made by Lucius’ teeth and tongue, but darker, angrier, left on his skin within his dreams by Voldemort’s jealous rage. Harry loved Lucius, and he desired him and wanted to marry him, for them to be together forever. But there was something thrilling about the Dark Lord (one of the most powerful Wizards on the planet currently) desiring him enough to lose control in such a manner, and for something as mundane as jealousy over a lover. Not a betrayal, or a threat, or a traitor. Not from anger, or fear, or desire. But from _jealousy_!

If Harry told Lucius, the man would probably be half-paralysed by fear, awaiting some sort of punishment from the Dark Lord for owning what the Lord coveted. But after the fear had passed, the blond Wizard would probably be smug enough to rival a peacock, Harry thought. It was tempting, he thought to himself, washing and dressing for the day, underwear-less because the material of his boxers were too tight on his bruises and his trousers were looser. Lucius would be jealous, and Lucius’ jealousy was a beautiful, satisfying thing. But Harry didn’t think he could bear the sight of Lucius’ fear. The man should never have to fear anything, not Lord Voldemort, and certainly not that Harry would ever leave him. 

Because he wouldn’t. 

_XXX_

April 16th 1995. King’s Cross. 

Harry thought it might have been weird, seeing Narcissa for the first time since he had technically stolen her husband. She was a free woman now, for the first time in many, many years, and though while not divorced in the Muggle sense of the word, her and Lucius were separated and free to do as they pleased with whom they pleased. In Lucius’ case, he was going to marry Harry once the boy was sixteen, and Narcissa would continue to live in Malfoy Manor, with her son, Lord Malfoy, and his teenage lover, and said lover’s father on occasion. 

Harry thought it would have been weirder. But this Easter, or Ishtar, break, which was now coming to an end, had been wonderful and magical, just like every other holiday Harry had ever spent at Malfoy Manor. Evan had been summoned to Riddle Manor near the end of it, returning shaking from the after effects of the _Cruciatus_ , but smirking with amusement all the same. Lucius had passed the days working in his office or close by Harry’s side, and when Harry wasn’t with Lucius, he was with Draco, playing Quidditch or passing on some of the duelling moves he had learnt from Professor Snape. Harry had told Lucius about the dream with Voldemort, which probably contributed towards Lucius’ possessiveness of him (or clinginess, if you asked Evan’s opinion), and Evan had told him about the Dark Lords interrogation, his insistence on knowing Harry’s lovers name– fiancé, Evan soon corrected Lord Voldemort –and then the gift of the Dark Lord’s stifled congratulations which was passed onto Harry. There were no more dreams of Voldemort over the two week break, but the usual returns into the normal realms of a teenager boy’s dreamscape, where Lucius and sex featured equally to worrying about walking into class naked someday2. 

And Narcissa Malfoy, through it all, was her normal, kind and caring self. She always included Harry in everything, spoke to him whenever he and Draco felt left out of Evan and Lucius’ discussions, comforted him if she found him in the kitchen or the parlour after a nightmare, smoothed out the normal petty fights he and Draco had on occasion about stupid things, just like she had done _before_ Harry stole her husband. 

She was the one to bring them both back to King’s Cross, and to watch them load their luggage into a carriage. Draco darted back over to give her a tight hug, and as they broke apart, Narcissa held her arms out to Harry, who smiled softly, relieved, and hugged her just as tightly as her son had. 

He had thought it would be weird, spending the holidays with the woman who had gotten divorced because of him, for him, but it wasn’t weird at all. Spending the holidays at Malfoy Manor had just been him coming home. 

**XXX**

 

1 – Reminds me of the Lotto adverts in Ireland. Some of them are so stupid they are funny, see: www dot youtube dot com/ watch ? v = CYOKzAp15 - k

2 – I’ve had that dream before. Funnily enough, the last time I had it was quiet a few years ago (when I was actually still in school), and here’s the funny part, that was the day I walked half way to school before realising I had only put on the top half of my uniform, and was still wearing my pyjama bottoms…. At 5.30am… Obviously, I ran home and went back to bed till 8! And got properly dressed the next time I woke up :P 

 

....Yeah, I know, Theodore should have been at the train station at the end too, but the scene was more about Harry feeling like he was still part of the family, having been joining them for Holidays since he was eight, despite causing Narcissa and Lucius' divorce. Think of it as a sort of backward child-blaming-himself-for-parents-divorce thing, but with 'child' being the 'other woman'... :P

Fun fact about exams?! In the exams I sat back in March, I meant to write down "the official secrets act”, but I wrote “the statute of secrecy” instead. And while re-reading the paper before handing it up, I came across that phrase and sat there for ten minutes staring at it, wondering why it didn’t sound right lol. Yeah. Oops?


	50. Chapter 49

I'm half way through my exams! And to celebrate? UPDATE! :)

 **Words:** 4,011  
 **Chapter 49**  
April 21st 1995. Hogwarts. 

“I don’t see why you’re bothering,” Theodore whispered at him across their table in the library. 

Harry glanced up, lifting his quill from the parchment so that he wouldn’t accidentally make a mess of his work while his attention was otherwise occupied. His eyebrows furrowed. 

“What?” He whispered back, wary of Madame Pince overhearing them and kicking them out. 

It was difficult enough finding a place to study in peace this close to the final exams without risking being kicked out of such a place. The library had been almost full before breakfast had even finished. Harry, along with the majority of the other Ravenclaws, had been some of the first people in there, hurrying to steal seats and tables and books for themselves. 

Hermione Granger had beaten them all to it. When Harry had seen her, she looked as if she had waited outside of the library all night until Madame Pince opened the doors, and she appeared not to have left since. It wouldn’t have surprised him if she had though. Out of everyone he knew, Hermione was the one most worried about her performance on the upcoming exams, though, she didn’t really need to be. At least, not so much so that she should forgo food and water. Even Harry, who was now sharing his table with Draco and Theo and their friend Blaise, had entrusted them to mind his seat and gone for food. They had taken it in turns, sneaking food in and rubbish out of the library, while someone remained to mind the table. 

Normally no one would sit next to Hermione when she was studying, because she was the one who forced the idea of a study plan down Harry’s throat, and she had been trying to do the same to a table of Hufflepuffs the weekend gone as well. But, with the mock OWLs creeping closer, and places to study becoming an endangered species, Ron Weasley had gritted his teeth, along with two other Gryffindors, and sat down beside her at twenty past twelve. Ron didn’t appear to be studying, but the other two did. Harry wondered how he expected to pass these exams. They might have been mocks, but failing one meant that you were no longer eligible to take that subject into the actual OWL year, which would be bad, because then you wouldn’t be able to continue that subject into NEWT year. If he were a Muggle, this would be around the time where Harry would joke that Ron would spend the rest of his life pumping people’s petrol for them. 

“You don’t need to study!” Theo continued, reaching over to try and pull the parchment from Harry’s hands. 

Draco grabbed it first though, and allowed his eyes to flick over the writing. “He isn’t studying. He’s making a study plan.” Draco had one made as well, it was almost the same as Harry’s: two hours of studying this, food, two hours of studying that, break, two hours of studying another, food, rinse and repeat as necessary. Blaise and Theo, though, preferred to just pick up a book and read it until their eyes were tired, take a break, and then pick up a less boring book. But Harry wanted to be thorough and Draco wanted to do well and impress his parents, as he had every year. 

Draco, Harry and Hermione were usually tied for the highest marks in their year when it came to exams and overall assignment grades. Hermione, because she was determined to prove that Muggleborns were as good as everyone else, Draco, because he was smart and wanted to impress his parents, and Harry, because he was capable and wanted everyone to know that he _was_ Lord Voldemort’s equal, like Evan had raised him to be. Just because Voldemort’s interest in him had appeared to have changed from wanting him as an heir to wanting him as Lucius did didn’t mean that Harry had to stop striving to reach that level, to be equal to him, to be _greater_. 

“Just because I’m exempt from the exams because of the stupid tournament, doesn’t mean I don’t need to learn this stuff, Theo. What if it comes up next year and everyone knows it but me? You need to remember that I’m years behind the other Champions, their exams are aimed towards excluding the parts they’d miss during the tournament, mine aren’t. Mine are aimed at every other fourteen year old who wasn’t forced to fight for fame and glory and you-know-what, and don’t have to worry about failing their exams because of it.” Harry huffed, his arms folded across his chest. 

Harry reached for his parchment back, pulling it from Draco’s grip and rolling it up tightly before he tucked it into his bag. He nodded goodbye at his friends, glanced briefly at Blaise who hadn’t looked up once, and stood up. He pushed the chair out and left the table, ignoring the horrified glance Hermione shot him for leaving his table while there was still eleven hours in the day left to study, or Ron’s envious glare, wishing he could get up and leave too, but every time he shifted Hermione cast another sticking spell on him and primly informed him that studying was beneficial. 

Harry made his way through the school, towards his Head of House’s office, which was only a few doors down from their Charms classroom. He knocked three times, quickly, and waited. 

“Harry?” Professor Flitwick asked, frowning slightly. “I would have thought you’d be in the library by now? Though, you know there’s no need for it this year, don’t you.”

“That’s actually why I wanted to speak to you, sir, if I could?” 

Flitwick stepped out of his doorway, moving backwards so that there was room for Harry to step inside after him. When the door was closed behind them, the teenager turned to his professor and smiled. “I would like to request the opportunity to take my end of year exams along with the rest of my year mates, despite the fact that participation in the tournament exempts me.”

“Harry, are you sure?” Flitwick looked rather surprised. Though, Harry wasn’t sure why he would be. He was a Ravenclaw; he was always one of the first to finish a Charm in class, or to hand up his assignment or to ask for extra credit. He was never late to class and he never left early, not even when he was sick, though Draco had tried to bring him to the Hospital wing that one time he almost collapsed in the corridor. 

And he was Harry Potter, heir to the Dark Lord, the one Ollivander said would do great things, and he would, and he will, but first he had to study and learn and become _good_ at school, and greatness would follow. He was the son of Lily Evans, the smartest witch of her generation, and James Potter, while lacking in common sense hadn’t been an idiot either. Evan Rosier had taught him all he knew, and Severus Snape gave him extra lessons, and Lucius Malfoy loved him and would be proud of him if he won. Lord Voldemort wanted him to win. Harry wanted to win, but damn the lot of them if he didn’t win on his own merits and not because the tournament was fixed in Voldemort’s favour. Passing his exams at the same time would prove to anyone who questioned his victory that it was deserved, that he was great and a winner and victorious. 

He would win the tournament for Voldemort, but he would pass his mock OWLs with flying colours for himself, on his own merits, because he could. 

“Yes sir, I’m completely sure.” Harry told his professor, his voice soft but sure and a small smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Completely.”

 _XXX_

May 27th 1995. 

He had been walking with Viktor Krum, the two of them talking quietly about politics and exams and tournaments. But then they had passed the lake, and Viktor had gone back to his boat, and Harry had continued to walk alone. 

He was just passing the forest, when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Harry stopped and turned, and squinted, trying to see clearly through his glasses. His prescription was new enough, he had only got them the summer just gone, but nothing would beat having twenty-twenty vision Harry knew. So, because he couldn’t make out who the person moving through the forest was from where he stood, Harry walked closer to the edge of the forest, narrowing his eyes as the person got clearer and more suspicious looking. 

“Mr Crouch?” Harry whispered, sounding as shocked as he felt. Bartemius Crouch Sr looked an awful state, his clothes were ripped and his hair was mused and there was dirt across his face and hands and shirt. He was trembling too, murmuring under his breath about something or other and Dumbledore, but Harry couldn’t quite make out what. 

A hand falling heavily onto his shoulder had Harry jumping and turning in mid-air, his wand falling easily into his hand and pointed unwaveringly at the man standing behind him. Alastor Moody licked the edge of his lip, tongue flicking out and darting back in again, like a frog’s after flies. He watched Harry with wide eyes, though not from fright or worry, but from excitement, and his one good eye seemed to glow with glee as he eyed the wand in Harry’s hand, waiting for him to use it, to give Mad-Eye an excuse to teach the boy a lesson. But Harry didn’t use it, he lowered his wand instead, turning back to face the elder Crouch who was now curled up on the floor whimpering at the sight of the professor. 

“Do you think he needs help?” Harry whispered. Alastor wasn’t who he said he was, Harry knew that much, but whether he was under the _Imperious_ , in disguise or playing Harry for a fool was something the boy couldn’t make up his mind about. Discretion was necessary. He couldn’t come straight out and ask the man if he was working for Voldemort, though it was likely he was given his actions throughout the year, because he was an old friend of Dumbledore’s and might have just been trying to trick Harry’s true allegiance out of him all year instead. 

“Yes, he does,” Alastor whispered. His false eye swirled madly, darting from left to right before staring straight ahead into the forest. “Follow me.” He knelt down to grab Crouch’s hair, yanking the man painfully to his feet, before shepherding him further away from the school. Harry followed warily, his wand still in his hand. 

When they stopped moving, the older Wizard began shouting about Dumbledore and the _Imperious_ , and about his son, who as far as Harry knew was dead. 

“Barty, no, no, no, Barty please!” The old man murmured to himself, falling to his knees again. He turned to Harry, eyes wide and pleading and begged for his life. 

Harry glanced up at Alastor, the name ‘Barty’ echoing through his head, like a mantra, over and over, never quietening, not even as green light flared brightly and Bartemius Sr. fell silent for good. 

“Damn,” Alastor groused, “maybe I should have offered you a go first? You could use the practise, boy. It’s always good to make a good impression on Him. He doesn’t tolerate failure well, He doesn’t. Though, then, what He sees in you I will never understand.” His tongue was out again, flicking at the edges of his mouth. He reached for his hip flask, uncorking it and taking a long, deep sip. A little of the liquid dribbled onto the lapel of his coat, and Harry took a deep breath, smelling the lacewings and the Boomslang skin, and thinking of “Barty, no, no, no, Barty”, and suddenly he _knew_. 

He knew he had recognized the smell, knew there was a reason something niggled at the back of his mind every time Snape complained about incompetent students raiding his potions stores during detentions where he had been made to take stock of his cupboards and always came up short. The way Alastor always drank from the flask and nothing else, once every half hour, just to be safe. The behaviour, the strange way Alastor treated Harry, half revering him and half hating him, and Harry wondered who this man was to Lord Voldemort because the way he said “He” was almost the way Harry spoke of Lucius. 

“Barty…” Harry heard again in his mind, and thought, trying to remember, who was it who had told him that Bartemius’ son had died? Because Harry didn’t think he had. But there was no proof, other than the ramblings of a dead, mad man, and the stink of Polyjuice potion of the fake-Moody’s breath as he leant in close to Harry’s face and laughed. 

“The Dark Lord will eat you alive, boy,” Barty Crouch whispered, with his mouth against Harry’s cheek. The stink of Polyjuice potion, now that Harry had finally recognized it, was unbearable. “And I pray He rewards me enough that I am there to witness it.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked, feeling spiteful and a little jealous, because Voldemort wanted _him_ now, not this imposter, and why should Harry be made to feel inferior and discarded by this man, when the Dark Lord was all that mattered? “By ‘eat’ do you mean kiss me breathless? Because that’s what happened the last time I saw your Dark Lord.” 

Harry didn’t give him time to respond. He whirled around and began to make his way back towards the castle. His hands shook, both from anger at Moody, and at himself for giving so much away. What if Voldemort didn’t want anyone knowing? What if someone was watching and had overheard? He was supposed to be better than this, calmer, surer, and he had acted like a jealous twat, mouthing off and flaunting a relationship with Voldemort that didn’t exist because Harry wouldn’t let it. What would Lucius think if he had heard? 

Harry sighed loudly, tucking his wand into his pocket, and pushing those thoughts out of his mind. What was said cannot be unsaid, Harry reminded him, and anyway the look of shock and horror on Moody’s scarred face had totally been worth it. 

Dumbledore found him as he was leaving the forest, and Harry had had no choice but to try and make himself look upset, and explain that he and Professor Moody had come across Bartemius’ corpse in the forest and Harry had run from shock at the sight. If Moody really was a Death Eater, then dropping him in it would do no good. So Harry vouched for him, and when Moody was brought to Dumbledore’s office a few minutes after Harry, he was smart enough to go along with the story. 

Harry must have fallen asleep. He didn’t mean to, and he couldn’t remember what he was doing before he was sleeping, but when he opened his eyes he was still in Dumbledore’s office, but he was lying sideway in the armchair he had been sitting in, his legs tucked up under him, and a soft blue blanket across his lap. The sun was up, whereas it was pitch black only moments ago, or so Harry felt. He didn’t feel like he had been sleeping, merely resting his eyes perhaps, but the night had passed by without him noticing, and now it was the next day. 

“Ah, you’re awake!” Dumbledore exclaimed cheerily, as he made his way into his office. “Unfortunately, when I tried to wake you this morning I received a small electric shock instead. Impressive work my boy, charming your wand to defend you in your sleep, but it had the unfortunate side effect of meaning that you’ve missed the official explanation regarding the third task. If you have a few moments before breakfast ends, I could explain to you?”

Harry sat up in the chair, pushing the blanket down and flattening it so it covered his legs but didn’t bunch up around his waist. He nodded, allowing Dumbledore to pour him a cup of tea and explain to him about the maze that had been grown over the Quidditch pitch, and of the various trials and tribulations that he would face inside of the maze. 

The explanation wasn’t all Harry had been hoping for, but he resolved to write to Evan as soon as he was released from the Headmaster’s office and ask for an _actual_ explanation. After all, he didn’t know, still, how this tournament was to Voldemort’s benefit. No one had told him. No one had even hinted at how, as far as Harry could remember. Yes, they had told him that this was what Voldemort wanted, his victory was what Voldemort wanted, but there was no reason as to why. It drove Harry mad at times trying to figure it out, reasoning and dismissing theories because they just didn’t fit. But Evan knew. And now, so close to the final task, Evan would have no choice but to tell him, because if he didn’t and Harry didn’t know what to do, everything could go wrong. The tournament would have been for nothing if Harry failed at this final task. 

And Lord Voldemort did not tolerate failure. 

_XXX_

When Harry received a reply to the letter he had sent Evan, it contained a better explanation of what the third task would entail. A maze, creatures that he shouldn’t have to worry about if their ‘inside source’, (Barty Jr, Harry’s mind supplied) did his job right, and finally a Portkey to the site of Lord Voldemort’s resurrection. It all depended on him, on his winning, and on his deception. The ritual required an enemy. Evan would take care of the Dark Lord, but Harry was on his own, and both he and his father hoped that his acting skills were up to par. 

To pretend he had never met the Dark Lord? To pretend he hadn’t knelt by his feet while the man carded fingers through his hair, he hadn’t dreamt about the man naked and touching him, kissing him? That they had never spoken or demanded of each other? To pretend Harry hadn’t already sworn loyalty to a man of such calibre? Such greatness, that Harry wouldn’t dream of taking his vow back? How was it possible?

How would Voldemort forget, when he was the one obsessed? 

The letter came with a small vial filled with purple liquid, a tag attached to the cork reading “drink me before bed”. Harry did so, and when he woke the next morning he could see clearly, without his glasses. But he was no clearer as to how to forget that Lord Voldemort had ever entered his life. 

_XXX_

May 31st 1995. 

Harry was back in the dreamscape. He had no idea what else to call it, but he knew it was either his mind or Voldemort’s that played host to these meetings. They weren’t real life, but they weren’t completely dreams either, because the bite mark Voldemort had left upon him the last time had taken weeks to heal and it had been completely real. So had the bruises the Dark Lord had left upon his wrists and hips, and the taste and feel of his kisses were as real as Lucius’, even if they had only happened inside of his head. 

Tom Riddle watched him, sitting in silence in a dark green armchair. 

Harry moved towards him, perching on the arm of the chair, rather than sitting in the matching piece of furniture opposite. He wondered what this was about, because usually Voldemort was angrier when they met, jealous of Lucius though he didn’t know it, but now he was calm and quiet and patient and it worried Harry. 

“What would you think of me if you had never met me?” Tom Riddle asked after a few more minutes of silence. 

And Harry realised what was going on. The Dark Lord knew of Evan’s plan, whatever it was, and though he didn’t appear to be angry about it, he definitely wasn’t happy either. 

“If I had never met you?” Harry gave a soft chuckle. “I wouldn’t be here right now, would I?” He turned, green eyes meeting Tom’s red eyes— no, Voldemort’s red eyes, because Tom’s had been blue. 

The Dark Lord took his hands in his own, pulling lightly until Harry slipped from the arm of the chair and sprawled in the elder man’s lap. Harry moved his legs, slipping them over the other arm of the chair, trying to get comfortable. Something was pressing against the underside of his thigh, but Harry ignored it, focusing instead on the one hand that moved to cup his cheek and turn his face towards Voldemort’s. 

Voldemort whispered against his lips, mouth soft and gentle against his own. “Would you care about me if we had never met before?” 

“It’s not you,” Harry told him softly. He brought a hand up to hold onto the wrist attached to the hand that touched his face. “I love Lu- Him, I met him first, not you. And that is what makes the difference, not my knowing you at all. I’m sorry.”

“Nonetheless,” Voldemort murmured, giving no indication that he had noticed the slip. “Let’s pretend we’ve never met, Harry.” And then his mouth was on Harry’s, and it was gentlest kiss he’d ever been given bar the first time Lucius had kissed him. It was as if he were made of spun glass and Voldemort was afraid he would shatter if touched too hard or too fast or too passionately. Voldemort’s other hand was by his forehead now, his wand pressing sharply into the skin above one eye, but Harry stayed still and continued to let the man kiss him. 

When they pulled apart, Harry was rolling, arms flailing before he fell, landing in a pile on the floor of his common room. His book was discarded on the couch that he had been sleeping on, and Luna watched him from the arm chair, her own book upside down in her hands. 

“Good dream?” She asked him, with a strange look in her eyes. 

Harry frowned, his eyebrows furrowed in thought and confusion. “I don’t know.” He told her honestly, picking himself up off of the ground. He flopped back down on the sofa and picked up his Transfiguration textbook. “I can’t remember what I was dreaming about.”

“You moaned ‘Tom’, if that helps any?” Luna told him, looking eager to see if her information had actually been helpful. 

Harry frowned again, curling his legs underneath him as he thought about ‘Tom’. There was a notion of safety, of friendship, and something deeper and darker on Tom’s part, but Harry couldn’t quite recall what. So he said, honestly once more, “I don’t know anyone named Tom.”

“Strange,” Luna murmured, before she went back to her Arithmancy book. 

Silently, Harry agreed with her, but he said nothing. There was a piece of parchment tucked into his textbook, and Harry pulled it out and re-read the letter Evan had sent him less than a week ago. But none of it made sense to him, none of it had a purpose, because he didn’t know who ‘He’ was, and he didn’t know why his winning would be so important to anyone. In fact, he didn’t even know who Evan was. So he folded the letter back up and tucked it back into the book, and went back to his studying. 

His exams started on the seventh of June, only a week from then, and the only exam he was exempt from was History of Magic because it fell upon the same day as the third task. He needed to study now; he could worry about missing memories, strange dreams and confusing letters once the summer began. 

**XXX**

 

If there is anything anyone would like to see in the sequel, no promises mind you, but let me know anyway and I’ll see if I can fit it in!! Thanks!


	51. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the end of the beginning...

This is the last chapter, guys! Thanks for reading/reviewing/leaving kudos, I appreciate them all. There will be a sequel, and I'll post a notice when I upload the first chapter, but it'll be a while yet, because I haven't started writing it yet (I got distracted by Avengers and FrostIron and Loki feels)... 

But since I have exams tomorrow and Wednesday, I'm posting this earlier than I planned to cause I won't be around to do it later :) Enjoy. 

**Words:** 4,615  
 **Chapter 50**  
June 1st 1995. Hogwarts. 

Harry woke that morning and put on his glasses, as he had done every morning since his aunt had bought them for him when he was four. But this morning his glasses didn’t appear to want to work for him. Harry took them off again, glancing around the room that appeared to be rather un-blurry, and put the glasses back on again, watching as the room blurred around him. 

He glanced down at the glasses in his hands, a frown on his lips. He had fallen asleep on the sofa in the common room the night before. A rather strange dream about kissing a man on a sofa had woken him, and though the man had had dark hair, Harry assumed he had been dreaming of Lucius because who else would he want to kiss? But he had woken, and Luna had been asking him questions, and he had told her he didn’t remember. But he could remember a man on a sofa now, that he couldn’t remember the night before, whatever that meant. And then he went to bed, without his glasses. 

Harry put his glasses back on again, and everything he looked at started to fuzz around the edges. He took them off, folding the arms up and placing it gently on his bedside table. 

When did he stop needing glasses?

“Harry? You up?” Terry Boot called. Terry had taken on the role of making sure the rest of his dormmates were up in time for breakfast and for first class, because the last time Harry did it, he left the lone Muggleborn sleeping in until noon. 

“I’m up.” 

Harry climbed out of his bed. There was a textbook on the foot of his bed, the one he had been reading the night before. He had tucked a note between its pages, one that spoke of Him and Portkeys and a potion that needed to be taken before bed. Maybe that was the potion that fixed his eyes? Maybe if he read it again now, after a full night’s sleep, Harry would understand what it meant? But when he opened the book, and even after he flicked through every page, he couldn’t find the note. It just wasn’t there. He checked under his bed, in case it had fallen out and fluttered to the floor, but it wasn’t there, and it wasn’t buried under his blankets nor had it slipped down under his mattress. None of his dormmates had seen it, and none of them saw the brown and green butterfly that sat perched above the doorframe like Poe’s raven, never flitting, still is sitting: keeping an eye on Harry Potter. 

_XXX_

June 10th 1995. 

Harry had spent the week feeling as if there was something within him missing. He had noticed the butterfly, every morning, sitting above the entrance to the Ravenclaw dorm, or in the windows of the Defence and Potions classrooms, but he had thought nothing of it, because he didn’t know the butterfly was Evan and he didn’t know Evan anyway. 

“It was strange,” he murmured to Draco, the son of his betrothed, casting suspicious glances at Theo who was supposed to be their friend and live with Evan during the summers but Harry couldn’t ever remember living with him. Nor could he remember how he had met Lucius. They had been in a park once, he remembered, vanishing Harry’s shoes and cast and Draco’s buttons while Lucius talked to… someone. And that was what was strange. There were half-memories. Half-thoughts and half-feelings. But something was missing, what was needed to make them whole was gone, and though Harry often complained to Draco and Severus, who was friendlier to him since their private lessons at Lucius’ request, they both told him to put it out of his mind, that nothing was wrong, that it was only exam stress playing tricks on him (because that was what Lucius had told them to do, what Evan had told Lucius to tell them and what Lord Voldemort had informed Evan to pass along). 

Then there was Sirius Black. Sirius, who was convinced something bad was about to happen, who kept offering to kidnap him from Hogwarts, who Harry lived with, who should have been in Azkaban still because Harry couldn’t think of a reason Lucius would break the man out of prison. His aunt and uncle were capable of taking care of him, weren’t they? Not very good care, but still, they were there and alive (because of course, without Evan no one had killed Vernon or framed Petunia, or lost Vernon his job, or kept them out of the basement and made them angry with Harry). Sirius Black hadn’t been needed, though Harry remembered that he liked living with his godfather. Even Remus was nice. But he couldn’t remember why he lived with them. 

Sirius was the only one who agreed that something strange was going on. The only one who didn’t think he was going mad, or was stressed out, or paranoid like Professor Moody had told him he sounded. 

There was something about Moody too. The way he licked the corner of his mouth. The flask he only drank from. The smell that surrounded him, like boomslang and copper cauldrons. They were in the forest, alone together, and at their feet was a corpse of someone’s father, and all Harry could think of was ‘Polyjuice’, but why? Why would Moody need Polyjuice? To catch “His inside source”? 

“Harry?” Hermione asked him, sounding concerned. 

They were sitting together in the library, surrounded on all sides by other nervous students. The first exams had started three days ago. Harry had sat two already and he had a third the following day. And yet, in front of him were two letters that were unopened, and another that made no sense.

Lucius’ and Sirius’ letters had been left till last. But the third one? The third one was strange as well. 

“ **Harry,**

**You know what to do. It might not seem like you know, not right now, but you’ll know when the time comes. Fight hard, caterpillar. Win.**

**A friend.** ” 

“What am I supposed to win?” He asked Hermione, moving to open Lucius’ letter next. 

“The tournament,” she told him, without looking up from her notes. “It’s probably from one of those Boy-Who-Lived fan clubs, and giving you a nickname makes them feel like you’re friends or something.” 

Usually, Hermione would be a lot sharper, she might have even figured it out, but Evan spent a good portion of each night making sure that Hermione didn’t get a wink of sleep. When she wasn’t studying, she was trying to escape nightmares or insomnia, and her brain just wasn’t up to its usual standard, which suited Evan just fine. There were two more weeks before Harry could realise the truth, before the Dark Lord would rise, and while Evan didn’t think the memory loss was necessary Lord Voldemort had done it without his knowledge or consent. What was done couldn’t be undone, not this close to the end game, not now that they had almost won. All they had worked towards, all they had sacrificed, it was all about to pay off, and all that was required was that Harry stay ignorant for two more weeks. 

“What is it?” Hermione asked, finally looking up and noticing Harry’s frown. 

“Lucius wants me to spend the summer at the Manor.”

“Don’t you usually do that anyway? When you’re not with Mr Black?” 

“Yeah, but the other letter is from Sirius. He’s really freaked out about everything that is going on. He doesn’t want me staying with Lucius or with Theodore or anyone. He wants me, Remus and him to go to Rome for my birthday, but I think he means more like a two month visit that coincides with my birthday and I come back just in time for school, than actually going just for my birthday.” Harry bit his bottom lip. “There’s a reason I don’t want to go, I just can’t think of why right now. But I’ve never been out of the country before. That would be nice.”

“Why don’t you ask Sirius to spend your birthday in Rome and the rest of your holidays split between his house and Mr Malfoy’s?” Hermione suggested, once more engrossed in her notes. 

Harry looked at her, then at his unopened Transfigurations text and sighed. “Or I could ignore them both and study so I don’t fail horribly tomorrow morning?” 

“Best idea I’ve ever heard,” Hermione agreed softly. 

Harry folded away his letters, but tucked the strange one from a stranger into his pocket. He kept that one, because that person wanted him to win, that person thought he could win. Harry would win, for himself, and for no one else, just like he would do brilliantly on his exams. To do that though, he had to stop thinking about who Tom could be, or Evan, or how he met Lucius, or came to live with Sirius. 

Harry had to study. 

_XXX_

June 24th 1995. Third Task. 

Harry wasn’t sure what had triggered the dreams, and at first he hadn’t been sure what they meant but he understood now. Evan Rosier was his father, not his biological father of course, but he had protected him from the Muggles, had raised him, fed him, clothed him and loved him. Evan had introduced Harry to Lucius, Evan had freed Sirius from Azkaban as his uncle’s corpse was discovered and his aunt sent to prison. Evan was a Death Eater. Evan worked for Lord Voldemort, but Evan had also promised Harry into His service. 

That was who ‘He’ was, in that letter Harry had found within his textbook. Voldemort wanted Harry to win the tournament, though he still did not know why. 

In his dreams, when he wasn’t remembering a boy named Tom kissing him on a dark green armchair, he was with Evan in the house on Privet Drive, talking of caterpillars and butterflies and a new era, or resurrecting the Dark Lord and of Harry being his heir, Evan his most faithful, though there were no memories of Voldemort’s jealousy of Lucius, no memories of nakedness and kisses. Harry continued to tell himself that the dark haired boy in the green armchair was Lucius, or a figment of his imagination, because he had never seen him before, never kissed him before, and he loved only Lucius. There were no dreams of Voldemort, none of Riddle Manor, or Barty Crouch Jr., none of kneeling by the homunculus’ feet while the Dark Lord petted his hair or told him he was beautiful. 

But he remembered Evan’s loyalty to his Lord. He remembered his own promise, to give the Dark Lord a chance, as long as the man didn’t automatically try to kill him. And he remembered that letter from a ‘friend’, from Evan who had always called him Caterpillar before he started Hogwarts, he remembered to fight and to win and that ‘the source’ would help him win. 

But Harry didn’t need help, he thought to himself, wand held out in front of him as he took his first few steps into the maze. It was just trees, lots and lots of trees, grown over the space of a few days, across the length of the Quidditch pitch, high as the sky or so it seemed and within it was the prize Harry was seeking. 

He remembered reading about a Portkey, but that couldn’t be right, because who would leave a Portkey to the Dark Lord’s location lying around where any of the other three Champions could find it, or a teacher? 

Harry walked on, first, as he was in the lead. Viktor Krum was second, followed by Cedric and then Fleur, each with a ten minute interval between them all. Harry had gotten lost three times before he realised that someone was screaming, a girl: Fleur. That meant he had been within the maze at least half an hour, if not more, though it seemed to have blurred together, time warping into itself until there was no time at all. Just a maze, and Harry, and something he couldn’t seem to find and all the time to find it. But he didn’t have all the time, he reminded himself, listening with one ear as Fleur screamed. 

The others were in the maze already. 

Harry couldn’t let them win. 

In the spectator’s stands, Mad-Eye Moody waved his wand, tucked up the sleeve of his robe so that no one could see it. The tree in front of Harry, the third one that Harry had been trapped behind, forced to turn around and make his way back to where he started, suddenly jumped out of the way. Harry eyed it warily, eyebrows furrowed.

“The source inside Hogwarts?” He murmured to himself, glancing over his shoulder to see if any of the other champions had found him. There was no one there, no red sparks in the air, and no invigilators appearing to tell him off for cheating. And so Harry stepped through the gap left by the tree and chuckled softly as the tree moved back into place. Harry was in the lead once again, and Fleur’s screaming was so far off now, still loud, but muffled by distance, and Harry continued closer and closer. 

He was going to win. Even if he had to accept help. 

_XXX_

Facing an Acromantula wasn’t exactly what Harry had been expecting this close to the end of the maze. But there one was, hissing at him angrily, though not speaking like Aragog had. Pincers kept digging into the ground beside him, as Harry kept rolling out of the way, to the left then to the right, each time missing being stabbed by centimetres. Then Cedric’s voice distracted him, and Harry looked up to see who it was, before screaming loudly, horrifically, as the Acromantula finally managed to land a hit. 

The pincher had missed him, but the giant spider had managed to stand on his leg, cutting straight down through the flesh and leaving a gaping wound that oozed and pus-ed. Harry watched the wound for a moment, wondering at the horrid state of it already, considering if maybe the spider was poisonous. He let Cedric fight off the spider, figuring it was payback for Harry fighting off an _Imperiused_ Viktor and saving Cedric earlier. 

When the spider was gone, the two boys lay panting on the floor. They were side by side, and Harry looked over at Cedric warily, and then glanced towards the Tri-Wizard Cup that waited innocently on a pedestal for one of them to claim. Neither boy had the energy to get to their feet, but Harry had to win, he had to. How his winning would help the Dark Lord, he didn’t know, but Evan had told him to win, and so he scrambled to his feet, biting off a cry of pain as his leg throbbed and bled, and half crawled, half limped to the trophy. His hand rested on the pedestal, but nothing happened. No one came to congratulate him, no Dark Lord’s sprung up from the ground, and a butterfly didn’t return to lead him through the maze once more. Harry stood there awkwardly, one hand on the pedestal and the other pushing against his wound. 

“You won, Potter. Congratulations.” Cedric wheezed, limping his own way towards them. 

“No one’s come to get us?” Harry questioned, looking around in confusion. He had won. It was over. Now, he wanted to get his leg healed and grill Evan about why exactly the Dark Lord wanted him to win and when, exactly, they would finally meet each other. 

“Maybe you have to touch the cup? Or shoot off red sparks too?” Cedric suggested. 

Harry considered it, but sending off red sparks was for those who got into trouble and needed to be collected. He had sent them for Viktor, who was cursed and unconscious and had tried to kill Cedric. But Harry wasn’t in trouble. Harry had won. Would calling for help mean that he forfeited? “I’ll take the cup.” Then he thought some more. “You might as well take it with me. Hogwarts will win anyway, and you and I both know that _I_ really won, but there’s no point them coming to get me and leaving you behind until you figure out another way to call them without forfeiting.”

“You sure?” Cedric asked, slowly making his way closer. His back hurt, and all of his muscles trembled from being held under the _Cruciatus_ but his heart beat faster with excitement. Harry was really going to let him go along, to stand together at the end, victorious before a cheering crowd of students and teachers alike?

No one had come for them, not a professor nor a Death Eater. Whatever Voldemort had hoped to achieve with his victory either came much, much later than the tournament, or hadn’t worked. There was no harm in feeling a little bit sorry for Cedric, who could have grabbed the trophy from him while Harry was wallowing in the dirt. “I’m sure. On three, yeah?”

They counted down together, one… two… three… and then their hands were on the trophy and Harry suddenly felt like an idiot for forgetting about the Portkey that was supposed to be there. It was too late to let it go, too late to make Cedric let go, and as both of their hands closed around a handle each they were suddenly spinning through the air, wind whistling by until a cemetery formed beneath them, and they were dropped, spinning, beneath the shadow of a hill, with a house above them and a church to their right, and gravestones all around them like a sea of silent witnesses as a portly man came out from between them, wand glowing green as Harry stared, lost in thought and confusion.

And then the spare was dead. 

_XXX_

Harry didn’t remember him, Voldemort knew that. He told himself that it was stupid to feel slighted, idiotic of him for his heart to ache every time Harry looked at him warily, as if fearing he would be struck or tortured. Even if Harry didn’t remember him, surely he _knew_ how Voldemort felt for him? But that was stupid too, he thought, because until a little while ago, on his knees before the boy, sucking the blood from the wound on his arm, Voldemort hadn’t remembered how he felt about the boy either. 

**“Nagini, this is Harry Potter. He is my heir; I wish to teach him everything I know. You will be respectful towards him, and you are never to bite him.”** The Dark Lord informed his familiar, as she snaked her way to his feet, coiling around an ankle before glancing over at Harry, her forked tongue flickering wildly. 

The snake turned her head towards Harry, its forked tongue coming forward to taste the air between them. **“He looks like he would taste well, master, but I will not eat him because you ask it.”**

**“That is good to know,”** Harry murmured softly, eyeing the Dark Lord in confusion. Something about the man was familiar to him, something about the man made him want to feel safe. But he didn’t. He didn’t feel safe. This was Evan’s Lord, not his own, and regardless of what the small voice in the back of his mind whispered, Lord Voldemort was very capable of hurting him. 

“You are a Parseltongue,” Voldemort said, though there was a hint of a question in it as well. Evan had said as much, but Voldemort hadn’t believed him. He had known that Harry was a Horcrux, had watched the Tom in the diary talk to Harry about it, and had Evan’s assurances that it was true. But that another could _become_ a Parselmouth, through the transfer of magic? What else, then, could Harry have taken from him, or vice versa? 

No one could speak of it, Voldemort remembered Evan telling him. Dumbledore had cast a ward over the school, which prevented anyone who had witnessed the duelling event in Harry’s second year from talking about it outside of the school grounds unless Harry told them. Harry had spoken again, in front of him, for the second time it seemed, though Voldemort could not remember whether Harry had actually spoke while he was possessing Gilderoy Lockhart. There had been an interaction with a snake, and students had insisted Harry had spoken to the snake, but only a true Parselmouth would be able to tell if Harry had actually _spoken_ , or if he had just hissed hysterically in his fear of the attacking snake. 

But this time, this time Harry had spoken, truly spoken. And Voldemort was awed by it, and a little frightened as well. Because Harry was already so important to him, and to Tom as well, and a Horcrux, and Evan’s son, and now a fellow Parseltongue. Who would not wish to hurt the boy once they knew of his connection to the Dark Lord? Who would not think to weaken Voldemort with Harry’s death? 

So, when his Death Eaters arrived, Voldemort acted as he had done before he remembered. He pulled Harry against him, squeezed his chin, before pushing him away again. He grabbed his face, dragging the boy back to front against him, tight against his chest, his lips moving against the boy’s tanned skin, before shoving him forward again. He watched, pretending it didn’t matter, pretending he didn’t want to jump forward and pull the boy from Lucius Malfoy’s arms as the blonde Wizard caught him as he fell. 

“I met Lu-him…” Harry had whispered, inside of his dreams before Voldemort had taken his memories. “Lu-” He had said, before stopping himself mid-word. “Lucius Malfoy,” Evan had warned him, two nights ago, though at the time Voldemort couldn’t think why he would care who Harry was fucking. But now, though, his blood, Harry’s blood, burned within his veins and he wanted nothing more than to hurt the man who held what he wanted, who owned what he coveted, and who was loved by the one who should have loved him. 

“So the rumours are true,” Voldemort whispered, as he watched the blonde comfort Harry. Evan knelt beside the teenager, wiping the blood from his forehead, and at the sight of it Voldemort strode forward, crouching beside the boy and wincing at the sight of his scar bloody and raw. **“I apologize.”** He spoke in Parseltongue, because it was their secret language, and no one but Harry would know how vulnerable he was then. 

Harry nodded back to him, smiling softly, cradled within Lucius’ arms. Voldemort couldn’t stand the sight anymore, couldn’t fight the longing to pull them apart. 

“It is time to be getting back to Hogwarts, Harry.”

“Yes Marvolo.” The boy answered him softly, ignoring the gasps and cries of the Death Eaters and the glares his father and lover sent them. Voldemort watched them kissing, eyes narrowed and fists clenched, and flicked his wand. The Portkey and the Hufflepuff’s body flew through the air, and Lucius sprung away from his betrothed just in time for the two items to crash into Harry’s chest. 

“Goodbye, for now, my Harry.” The Dark Lord waved at him, just as the world began to spin again. 

_XXX_

It was as the world spun, and his insides twisted, and he fought the urge to vomit, one arm around Cedric and the other gripping the Portkey tight, that he remembered. 

The boy in his dream, he had kissed him before in the Chamber of Secrets, while Draco lay unconscious at his feet, half submerged in a lake of water. Again, in Harry’s mind, in Lucius’ bedroom while he was naked and tied to the bed, and again, in Voldemort’s study, curled together in a green armchair as Harry was asked to forget. But he couldn’t forget, he hadn’t forgotten, not really. The memories were back, bright and vivid and new, as if he were reliving them again. 

It had never been said, would probably never be said, but the Dark Lord revered him. The way the man had looked up at him, after he had sucked blood from his veins in his arm, full of wonder and desire and reverence. Harry knew that the man felt for him like Lucius did, not love perhaps, but lust and desire and need. Possession, obsession, yes, but not love, and that was what made the difference. Lucius loved him, the Dark Lord didn’t. He was Lucius’; despite the fact that Harry almost thought he could love Voldemort too, because how close had he been to loving Tom, if not for Lucius? 

But that voice in his head had been right. Voldemort would not hurt him. And tonight, he would see Voldemort in his dreams once more, apologise for his fear and his wavering loyalty, and his memory loss, and he would bow before his Lord, on his knees as the Dark Lord carded his fingers through his hair and told him how beautiful he was. 

But right now… 

Right now he was falling towards the Quidditch pitch, Cedric falling from his arms and the Portkey flying towards the crowd. He struck the ground with a ground, crawling with tears in his eyes until he could lie over Cedric, his wand in one hand, and the other gripping desperately to the front of Cedric’s robes. 

He glanced around quickly, and there was Barty Jr sipping from his hip flask and watching with eyes wide and excited, and there was the green and brown butterfly perched on his shoulder having left the Dark Lord’s side to watch over Harry, and there was Dumbledore, running towards him with fear on his face. It was show time, he told himself, forcing tears to fall and whimpers to leave his lips. He thought of how afraid he had been originally, though he tried to hide it, when he didn’t know that Voldemort wouldn’t hurt him. He thought of the pain in his scar when Voldemort tortured him accidentally, jealous and angry and wanting to claim the boy, but hurting him instead. As he cried, Dumbledore asked him what was wrong, what had happened, who had hurt him. 

Harry was always told he was a bit like a Caterpillar and one day he’d be a Butterfly too. That’s what Evan had called him, Caterpillar, Caen from Evan’s animagus form’s Latin name. Evan hadn’t called him Caterpillar since he had started Hogwarts. In Hogwarts, Harry had been within a cocoon, waiting, growing, strengthening, preparing himself for what was to come. And now, now it had come, now it was time. Harry could spread his wings, gossamer and beautiful and new, and take flight. He would pull this off, he would trick Dumbledore and impress Voldemort, and he would be _great_. 

It was time for him to become a butterfly, to emerge new and whole into the new era that waited for him, that he had helped create. With his last breath from within his cocoon, before he burst free and took his rightful place in the world, he looked up at Dumbledore, eyed red-rimmed and wet.

“He’s back! Voldemort, he’s back!” Harry told them, screaming it for all to hear. 

Dumbledore pulled him closer, hiding Harry’s face against his shoulder, trying to comfort him. As the old Headmaster whispered about how everything would be ok, Harry covered his face that little bit more, and grinned. 

**The End**

If an explanation is needed: Evan was going to take Voldemort’s memories, so that he would act like a Dark Lord before the ritual. The spell broke with the ritual’s completion. For example, he might not have killed Cedric, who might have been Harry’s friend, if Voldemort had remembered how he felt about Harry, and then Cedric would tell people, etc. Evan didn’t take Harry’s memories: in the letter, Evan tells Harry to act. The spell was Voldemort’s insurance policy. On one hand, it means that while Harry remembers some stuff, he doesn’t remember Voldemort as anything other than a man who wants to kill him, thus, allowing the ritual to consider them “enemies”. On the other, how would Harry feel about him if they had never met? Anyone who got that from the chapter, could have just skipped this, but I put it in because a lot of people asked over at FFnet.

* * * 

I think I tied it all up. If I didn’t, well, damn. Point it out to me, and I’ll work it into the sequel. 

Thank you all for reading and reviewing. I hope to see you all in the sequel (titled: _On Gossamer Wings_ [continuing the Butterfly/Lycaenidae theme]) when it arrives.


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